


Songbird

by Chrysalin



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: F/M, Hypnotism, Kidnapping, Referenced violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 73,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysalin/pseuds/Chrysalin
Summary: After leaving the Phantom for Raoul, Christine has been kidnapped and the Vicomte has to ask Erik to help find her. She needs his help, and who is he to abandon her after being there for her for years?





	Songbird

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of moving my work over from Fanfic, so you might recognize it. It's been some time since I wrote it, so it's definitely not my best work, but it's still worth a read.

Vicomte Raoul de Chagny mechanically followed Madame Giry down the steps into the city’s vast catacombs. It had taken hours to convince the stern woman he did not want to harm her adoptive brother – rather, he needed his help. Finally, as if she’d seen something she needed in his eyes, she consented. She sent her daughter Meg ahead to warn Erik of their pending arrival and ordered the vicomte to don less fine clothing against the waters and dirt of the extensive tunnels. He privately wondered why Erik had returned to the house on the lake but had to assume the other man wouldn’t have done so if he hadn’t been certain it was safe.

It was no easy task for Raoul to go to his arch-nemesis for assistance. He had tried to do without, had raged against the unfairness of it, but Erik remained the only solution he could see. All the realization left was a sense of emptiness and heartache.

“He will not be pleased with you or the news you bring,” Madame Giry warned, jerking her companion from his dark musings. “I intended to speak of it myself during my last visit, but he scarcely heard a word I said the entire time. I cannot guarantee your safety should you do anything to provoke him.”

Raoul nodded tiredly. “The price matters not. Christine’s safety is more important.”

She studied him. “Why have you not married her, monsieur? It has been months.”

He could only offer a helpless shrug. “Christine said she was not ready. After all that occurred here, I thought it best to give her time.”

“To forget Erik?” the ballet mistress guessed. “That will never happen. He was her whole world for more than half her life.”

“I don’t care,” he said in a soft voice. “Really, I don’t. If in the end she changes her mind, I only desire her safety and happiness. If he can give that to her… I will not argue.”

“Remember that,” she cautioned. “We do not know if Erik will even assist you.”

The elder man was leaning against a wall near the edge of the lake as they reached the bottom of the steps. Meg could be seen on the other side, waiting in the front rooms of Erik’s abode. He silently assisted Madame Giry into the gondola and offered Raoul a pointed glare, making it clear that though he would carry him across, he was not welcome. 

It was only a matter of moments before he brought the small boat to the vicomte’s feet, but Erik felt no need to offer the courtesy he’d given the lady. The nobleman clambered in, choosing not to speak of his reasons for coming until Erik was at least out of arm’s reach. When one bore ill tidings to a man known for a vicious temper, one waited to present the information until safety was more easily assured.

Again Erik paid no heed to the younger man, leaping onto the steps that formed his tiny dock after punting across. He proceeded to lash the boat to a post. When his task was complete, he stalked forward, eyes fierce. 

“To what do I owe this dubious pleasure, Monsieur le Vicomte?” he asked in a cool tone that did nothing to hide the hatred in his eyes. His patience had worn thin remaining silent as long as he had, and he had not forgotten how he despised the boy before him. 

“It’s about Christine,” Raoul answered. “She was kidnapped, and I would like you to help me find her.”

Though Erik froze for one prolonged moment at the news, it did not last. “I fail to see how this is of any concern to me. Indeed, this should be your job as her fiancé.”

The vicomte shrugged. “I have neither the time nor the information to even know how to begin. The police are baffled, but I thought you might know something.”

He frowned and paced, caught in the intrigue. “Perhaps… A few possibilities come to mind, but nothing concrete. I have rarely sought news above these past few months.”

“Do I have your assistance then?”

Erik glanced at him. “Did you ever doubt it when it was for her?”

“No. I am well aware of how much you would do for Christine. Loath though I am to request your aid, there is no one else who would do whatever it would take to save her. Perhaps we can declare a truce? It would please her, I think.”

“Yes, yes, I will not attempt to kill you again unless you do something to harm me,” Erik said, waving him off. “I have many things to consider before I search at nightfall. Do you know where she was taken from? How long ago?”

“My townhouse,” Raoul replied, “as far as I am aware. There are obvious signs of her presence and a struggle but none whatsoever of the attacker. The police agree, but she has been gone for ten days without any sign. Do you think she lives?”

The masked man considered for a moment. “If she had been killed, no doubt the body would already have been discovered. I will need to examine your home myself.”

“Yes, of course, and anything else you may require. Erik…” Raoul paused, unsure of if his gesture would be well-received, or even if he was permitted to address him by name. At the same time, he knew nothing else but hateful epithets that had been thrown at the man countless times. “I am having you cleared. You will be free.”

The one brow visible arched noticeably. “Really. Might I enquire as to the reason?”

“Christine will need you once she is found, and she would not wish you to risk prison or the guillotine by going to her. She has been unhappy since leaving the opera, and I do not want to give her further reason to grieve. I am also purchasing the Populaire from Messieurs Firmin and Andre. Regardless of how this ends, it is yours. A gift to begin a proper life.”

Erik was unusually and visibly startled, but he said nothing in argument. Instead he ordered Meg to escort Raoul to the surface, assuring them he would disarm his traps to allow them safe passage. Madame Giry moved to follow her child, but he took her arm. “I would like to speak with you alone before you go.”

She nodded as they watched Meg maneuver the gondola across the lake and guide the vicomte up the steps. “What is it that you need?”

“First I would like you to confirm what the boy said on your way here.”

“You were listening?” Rather than allowing him to answer, she shook her head and did so herself. “Of course you were; you always do. I assume you mean in regards to Christine’s future. Yes, the vicomte has said that what comes next is for her to decide. Erik, she will need you.”

“I know,” he said. “I cannot be sure he has her, yet… I feel it must be true.”

Antoinette’s hand grasped his shoulder firmly. “You cannot mean to confront the man. It is madness. He is far more dangerous than you ever were.”

Erik’s burning eyes locked on his adoptive sister’s. “Do not underestimate my abilities, madame. Nothing will prevent me from saving Christine. Even if I must give my own life in the attempt, she will not be left in torment.”

Madame Giry sighed and released her grip, knowing the insanity that could take hold if he were pushed too far. It had taken much too long for him to resurface after he sent Christine away. “I do not want to lose either of you. Please, promise you will be careful. Swear to me I will not be forced to suffer another loss.”

“You know I can guarantee nothing,” Erik answered grimly. “I will do my utmost to bring both of us back safely, however. If it settles your mind, I will not confront the man unless given no other option.”

She gave him a tired smile. “If that is the best you can offer, it will have to do. Be careful, my dear, and bring poor Christine home.”

He began to lead the way around the edge of the lake. “I can escort you up.”

“I can find my way from here. You should rest before you begin looking.”

“I will try,” he promised in an attempt to soothe her clearly frayed nerves. Jeopardizing someone she loved to locate another was not something she did lightly, even knowing he would have taken part in the search regardless. “Antoinette, you know I’ll be fine.”

“I suppose,” she conceded.

“Will you join me when I go to the vicomte’s tonight?”

“Of course. Shall I bring Meg?”

He nodded brusquely. “She can deal with that contemptible fool for me. Truce or no, I detest the ignorant boy and fear my temper would make it difficult to get the answers I need.”

“And I?”

“You will be assisting with my investigation of the building. Trap doors, hidden passages – you know what to look for.” He frowned and embraced his sister, betraying his insecurities for the first time through the rare contact.

“Oh, Erik,” Madame Giry sighed, patting his shoulder. “If anyone can save her, it would be you. She needs you now. You have to focus on that.”

He drew back, his normal unreadable expression falling over his features even as embarrassment brought a hint of color to his cheeks. “Until tonight, Antoinette.”

88888888

Madame Giry was sure that if not for the limited space in the carriage Raoul sent, Erik would have been pacing. He cut a dramatic figure with his flowing cloak and elegant garments, white mask in place. The older man snapped at one of Meg’s endless queries, patience worn thin. 

“Erik, settle down,” she ordered in her best instructor’s tone. 

“I could have walked faster than this,” he growled. 

Meg laid a delicate hand on his arm. “I am sure Christine will be fine,” she said in an attempt to be comforting. “I know she seems fragile, but she is stronger than people think.”

Erik barely restrained another curse, knowing better than either the kind of horrors that awaited his angel if his suspicions proved true.

“Meg,” Madame Giry reprimanded, “if Erik is concerned there is no doubt reason. Let him do as he must.”

“I was not going to try to stop him, Maman,” the girl said quickly. “I’m sure he knows what he is doing.”

“No doubt. Now hush,” her mother censured. “He needs space to think.”

Erik sighed, tapping his fingers against his knee in time to a tune only he heard. 

The carriage slowed to a stop as they approached the front drive of the de Chagny city residence. Raoul, standing anxiously in the foyer despite the dismay he was clearly causing his staff, beckoned them inside. 

Erik ensured the door was bolted behind them. “Where was she?”

“The signs of a disturbance were found in the music room, though it was strange,” the vicomte answered. “She had been avoiding it for weeks. Shall I escort you?”

“No need,” Erik said, gesturing at Madame Giry. The peace offer and knowing to come to him for help had soothed the worst of Erik’s anger toward the boy, but he still did not wish to suffer his presence. “She knows the layout. Meg?”

She nodded and asked Raoul if she could speak to him in the drawing room. He complied without argument and Erik glanced at the ballet mistress. She guided him through the halls and opened the double doors that led to the massive chamber. Erik gave the room a swift glance and dismissed its supplies as substandard. The shelves of sheet music, however, gave him pause. One was hanging out as though it had been released abruptly by the viewer, but the difference was small enough to not have caught the attention of anyone who had been examining the chamber or taking part in setting the room back in order. He stalked over and drew it from the other pages to examine it more closely. 

It was his, a piece he had left in the opera dormitories for Christine to practice shortly before their first encounter. Glancing at the others around it showed that all in the section were his work and, judging by the pristineness of the elegant room, no other used the chamber for its intended purpose. Christine’s love of music and knowledge of his need for exactness would never have permitted her to leave a score out of place, and certainly not an original. 

Glancing up from his discovery, he saw Madame Giry examining walls, floor and shelves for any hidden doors. “Have you found anything?”

“Not yet. Have you?”

“Perhaps…” He explained the odd circumstances and was pleased when Antoinette agreed with his assessment. 

“You agree that this is it, then? She was here when she was taken?”

“No doubt about it. The police are at least not complete fools,” he said distractedly as he began a perusal of the room, looking for a trigger that would open a trap door or hidden passage. “Do you suppose the boy has the blueprints for this place? They might help.”

“I’ll go ask,” she said as she hurried from the room. 

When the walls, floor, and shelves failed to reveal any secrets, the Phantom turned his attention to the furnishings. Much to his interest, he discovered that while most pieces were freely moved, one small table was bolted down. He knelt to examine it and found a small carving that could be depressed. When he did so, nothing happened. He circled and found similar pieces on each leg, each of a different form. There were only four carvings, so even guessing there were only twenty-four possible combinations. He inspected the tabletop, hoping for clues. 

It was an unusual item to find in the home of a French nobleman, Erik mused. The design had a faintly Oriental flavor, but the secret itself was Persian – he recalled having seen similar objects during his time in that country. He considered simply trying each possibility, but a few been filled with explosives in case one guessed incorrectly. 

The top… Yes, the order would be inscribed there. He needed to locate symbols on the table’s surface that matched the ones on the legs. It was a simple matter for one that had as much practice as he in seeing even the smallest of details from a distance. 

He depressed each in the given order and was rewarded with a rumble beneath the carpet. Slitting open the fabric with a dagger he kept in his boot, it revealed a trap door. 

‘Trap door lover indeed,’ Erik thought as he considered. The drop of ten feet was too far if one had a conscious prisoner with them. There was too much of a chance of injury for both parties. He lowered himself before dropping fully and recognized a faint scent that confirmed his suspicions, kept for his finding by the sealed nature of the passage. Though he didn’t like it, at least he knew for sure. 

As he lifted himself back into the room, Madame Giry, Meg and Raoul entered. “You found it!” the vicomte exclaimed. Erik nodded and proceeded to brush the dirt from his fine clothing. “Well?” he prompted. 

The older man rolled his eyes skyward but deigned to explain what he thought should be blatantly obvious. “Christine was here when her assailant arrived. She was rendered unconscious with chloroform and carried away through that tunnel.”

“Where does it go?”

“I did not have time to find out before the circus arrived!” Erik roared. “Give me some peace, boy! I cannot know everything in so short a time!”

“Do you know who took her yet?”

Erik muttered several choice Russian curses under his breath. “I have suspicions, nothing more. Now would you be so kind as to allow me to continue!?”

Raoul was guided out of the room by Meg, who also locked the door. Erik offered her a rare smile of appreciation and twitched his heavy cloak from his shoulders. His jacket, vest, and cravat followed. Clad only in shirt, trousers and boots, he once more dropped into the passage and glanced up to the waiting ladies. 

“Do not let it shut,” he instructed. “Wedge something in the opening if you must.”

Madame nodded. “Be careful.”

He turned and vanished from sight. 

88888888

Erik moved with feline grace, ignoring the voices echoing behind him. Instead, he listened for anything ahead, any bit of sound that might indicate the presence of another in the dark tunnel. After many years in the depths of the opera house, he had the uncanny ability to see without light and could make out the details of his surroundings. 

There were no turns or openings save the path directly before him. He paused at a sharp stone that jutted up slightly from the ground, seeing fabric snagged against it. Lifting the swath, he took a tentative sniff and recognized Christine’s preferred rose scent. The heavy silk likely came from the gown she had worn the day she was abducted. 

The tunnel ended not much later, a rickety ladder leading to a grate overhead. He reached the top without mishap and shifted the cover to the side. Looking around, he discovered that the tunnel terminated in a dark alley a short distance from the fashionable neighborhood the vicomte occupied when he wished to be close to the city’s entertainments. 

“Interesting,” he murmured as he descended. It would be unbelievably reckless to carry an unconscious lady through the streets, and a carriage would be risky even if driven by a cohort simply because they risked her waking before they reached their destination. Chloroform was, after all, only effective for a brief period. Christine’s face was well-known, especially after the farce they had made of his opera, and she had sense enough to draw attention to herself. The only logical possibility was that she had been taken somewhere close.

The kidnapping matched the style of the man he had been hoping was not involved. No one dared speak out against a wealthy, titled lord, but his crimes were heinous.

Erik had met the man once when he expressed an interest in adding Erik to his collection. It was his misfortune that the Phantom had left vulnerability behind long ago. His wits, added to his skill with many weapons and his incredible stealth, scarcely allowed for him to be victimized. He was also one of the most impossible men to find, given almost no one had been aware of his home beneath the opera house until recently. It also was carefully guarded – though the police had learned of its existence, they had not captured him due to the traps that kept others away, and the entrances were both numerous and expertly concealed. 

He drew himself into the de Chagny townhouse once more. Madame Giry and Meg had been conversing near the piano but immediately looked up at his entrance. He sighed.

“It is as I feared,” he said. “That fiend has collected her.”

The ballet mistress recovered from the shock first. “Do you know where to find her?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, but I will find out. A man such as he is always looking for new underlings. It should not be difficult to determine his location – he would, after all, have to inform any newcomers of his current residence.”

“Why would they tell you if they work for him?” Meg asked.

“You misunderstand,” Erik corrected as he gathered his outer garments. “He does not meet with potential employees in a public venue. Those who wish to see him must do so on his turf. He will make his position known. If fortune is on our side, he is unaware that I have ties to Christine. If it is not and he knows, as I expect he does, we may have further troubles yet.”

“Who is it then?” Raoul demanded as he strode into the room, key in hand.

Erik turned his icy gaze to the younger man. “Marquis Jean-Laurent Moreau.”

Raoul sank back into a chair, skin a delicate shade of green that clashed with his perfectly fashionable clothes. “Moreau? Are you certain? I’ve met the man; he seemed harmless.”

Erik snorted inelegantly. “Perhaps he seems to be, but I assure you he is not. He is a ruthless, vicious man with a distressing tendency toward kidnapping and other deeply unsavory acts. Christine is not the first he has victimized.”

“What does he do to them?”

Erik hesitated, but he relented when he saw the anguish on the vicomte’s face. Though he cared nothing for the fool, Christine was their one mutual interest, and she would have suffered enough once he brought her back. He and Raoul would have to find a way to let go of past hurts in order to help her recover from her ordeal. He only prayed she would be given that opportunity, because anything else was unthinkable. “He has a collection, shall we say, of attractive people with special skills, most often in the form of song. Man or woman, it matters not. Most die in a short time during one of his frequent rages, and those he is finished with are simply abandoned. I have aided a few of his discards, though whether it is fortunate for them to have survived is hard to say. They are deeply harmed, and it is not the physical damage that is the worst of it. They are terrified to even speak or otherwise demonstrate their talents for fear of his changing his mind. He forces them to perform whenever he desires, enforced by threats to those they love. True performers, like Christine, give a piece of themselves through their work, and the abuse of those gifts can ultimately destroy them.”

“Does he – does he…?” Raoul couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“Does he rape them?” Erik finished. “To my knowledge, no. I have heard rumors that he is not capable of such acts, and that it was what triggered his madness. Regardless, it does not stop him from hurting them. He beats a performer if they do not match his exacting standards or if they offend him in any way. Given his interest, I do not doubt that he had heard her sing prior to her abduction, likely at the Populaire. Had I known he was attending a performance, I would never have permitted Christine to take the stage.”

“Do you know him?”

“We’ve met.”

“How?”

The masked man wanted to strangle the boy to stop his questions, but Christine’s face appeared to his mind’s eye and he knew he could not. He took a few slow, deep breaths before answering the question as evenly as he could “He expressed an interest in adding me to that collection some years ago.”

“Your face…”

“I suppose I was something of a novelty,” said Erik brusquely. “He was interested in me because I am different. As I am unwilling to betray my art in such a fashion, and I have neither loved ones nor weaknesses to exploit, I dissuaded him.”

Raoul, able to guess how that was done, let the matter rest. “What do we do now?”

“We do nothing. You must remain and live as usual. Continue working with the police to find Christine; it will keep Moreau from becoming suspicious. I will use the underground to locate him.” He moved to the door, ready to begin.

 

“Erik?” Raoul asked in a quiet voice. “How will you free her?”

He stopped, but did not face them. “Ideally I will be able to steal into his stronghold and whisk her away before I am noticed. However, if I must, I will trade myself to save her. His interest in me has not waned. I only pray that will not a measure I am forced to take.”

88888888

Christine was dozing fitfully when her cell door slammed open, making her jump. One of the Moreau’s thugs tossed some clothes at her and ordered her to dress before he returned. Terrified, she did, though it was more revealing than any costume she had worn while dancing. 

Seconds after she finished, the same mountainous man appeared and grabbed her upper arm in a bruising grip. She struggled, but she was small and very weak from little sleep, little food, and constant abuse. Her father had never raised a hand against her, and Madame Giry had preferred the punishment of a sharp tongue over a beating. Already she had suffered more pain than she could recall from her entire time in the corps de ballet – no mean feat considering the physical demands of dance. 

He practically threw her into the dining hall and slammed the doors. She timidly made her way to Moreau’s table as he enjoyed his feast while those unfortunate enough to be in his so-called collection looked on in misery. 

“Ah, my newest songbird!” Moreau called, his voice full of false cheer. A quick glance showed his glass to be filled with brandy rather than the wine he usually took with dinner. She swallowed, knowing the drink made him even more volatile. “Tonight is your turn, dear girl!”

She nodded but kept quiet, only wanting to return to her cell. Better yet, to her life. The marquis gestured imperially and some tall, dark-skinned man stood by her side. He was one of the oldest survivors in their miserable troupe, but Christine doubted he would be around much longer. His gift was all but gone, his will to live along with it.

“I want you to sing that lovely duet from the new opera the Populaire performed,” he instructed. “Don Juan Triumphant, yes? I believe it was called ‘Point of No Return’.”

Christine shook her head.

“What was that, dear?” he asked, velvety tones becoming more menacing. “Surely that was a slip.”

She shook her head a second time.

“Perhaps you need reminded of what occurs when you do not obey,” he snapped. “There is a ball a few days from now during which I could encounter your precious vicomte. It would be a matter of utmost simplicity to poison a trusting man!”

Her eyes widened in terror, but the madman’s rampage was not done.

“It could be that is not enough,” he said in a dangerous whisper. “You have no birth family to threaten, but you do have people you care for. Your foster mother, for example. It would be easy for a woman of her age to suffer a tragic accident. And your little ballet friend – she may not always be able to dance! Or perhaps I shall take her; she sings rather sweetly. But no… No, there is one more: your beloved Erik.”

She froze. Christine had wished Erik would find her, that he would save her as he always had. Erik had been her secret, the hidden card that could win the game, but he knew. 

“Yes, darling girl, I am aware of Erik’s interest in you – and more, yours in him. It really is unkind of you to be engaged to de Chagny when you do not love him, you know. Unless you want some miserable fate to befall them, sing.”

It was too much. The poor girl was too scared, too weak. The world tilted and raced at her at an astounding speed. She fainted, her head making vicious contact with the stone floor. Blackness offered a strange release from the hell she found herself in.

88888888

Erik winced as he caught sight of a man stumbling in the street looking stricken and terrified. The Phantom had saved him in a fit of compassion – the young man had been so broken after Moreau turned him out. Erik barely caught him before he would have fallen face first into the gutter. “Hold on, my friend,” he commanded, words laced with a gentle tone most would have considered him incapable of. 

His name was Adrian Montmartre. Captured at only twelve when his voice first changed to that of a man’s, he had been trapped for thirteen years. His sanity had miraculously survived, but even after his flawless tenor had failed he continued to be plagued by his past. Erik had brought him to his underground home until Adrian was healthy and able to speak, tormented though he had been by giving up Christine. 

The other man’s devastated eyes caught his and held. “Erik? Is that you?” His tone was harsh, as though each syllable was pulled with great difficulty from a throat torn to shreds by countless blades. Erik’s grip tightened at the thought of Christine suffering the same fate.

“Yes, I am here,” he soothed. “Are you unwell, Adrian?”

“He is in my head,” Adrian said. “If I try to sleep he is always there, with his demands and his cruelty and the songs I can no longer hear.”

“I know, but he is not in your life now. You have left that place, and he rules you no longer. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything,” Adrian swore as Erik passed him a piece of fruit from a nearby vendor, flipping the merchant a coin. His hat kept enough of his face in the shadows to keep him unremarkable. “You have done so much for his castoffs. Perhaps you are yourself less than an angel, but your kindness to me is beyond repayment.”

“You will not like it,” he warned. “I am looking for Moreau. I want you to tell me where to find him.”

Adrian stilled. “Why?”

“He took someone I know,” Erik answered, looking away. 

“Ah, the inestimable Mademoiselle Daaé,” the other mused, recalling Erik’s love for the young soprano. He had spoken of her in an attempt to draw Adrian from the pits of his own despair, to entice him with a new story. “I am surprised this did not happen sooner.” The food seemed to have revived him. His eyes cleared and some of the fright had passed. 

“I would much prefer it had never occurred.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “You know Moreau changes location regularly.”

“You left most recently and I do not think he knows of my involvement with you or the others. I hope he still remains. Will you help?”

“Erik, without your care I would not be speaking; I might have languished in silence forever. I owe you far more.”

“Too much time has passed already. I would prefer she not suffer any longer, and if you can help me find her it shall be I who will owe you.”

Adrian rose, brushing his hands against his trousers. “I can lead you to the place I last knew him to reside in, but I’m afraid that’s all. I will not enter.”

“I would not ask you to.”

88888888

As Erik had suspected, Moreau’s house was in the same neighborhood as the de Chagny residence, and a quick examination proved he was still there. He sent Adrian on his way, though the man had come so close, trembling fit to loosen his teeth. 

He was too distinctive to risk entering blithely, even at night in dark clothing. The opera house had been simple, as its inhabitants were in general a peaceful lot, and the arrangement of the building provided him with a great deal of freedom. In a more complex situation, Erik instead chose to slip into the catacombs that ran under the entire city to search for a way in. Moreau was a criminal, regardless of the law’s ignorance, so such a bolt-hole seemed a reasonable inclusion. 

To Erik’s great pleasure, his guess proved accurate when he discovered an opening in the ceiling of the tunnels. It was locked, but he had learned many skills over the years and it only took a few seconds to undo it. He lifted the door enough to peer into the room. Letting his senses search, he discovered no other presence and slid in, covering the exit but leaving it unsealed to hasten his escape with Christine. 

He stepped into the shadows and practically vanished. Years in the opera house had given him ample practice. He moved through the rooms of the spacious house without a sound, though he suspected he already knew Christine’s location. She would doubtless be in the upper levels to prevent an escape or attempted rescue. 

He lingered in the corridor outside the dining hall where Moreau sat tormenting his current performers. Erik recognized a few as promising members of the opera. A servant passed with a jug of wine obviously intended for the head table. While the young man paused to open the door further, the Phantom deftly poured a sleeping draft into the beverage. One of his own concoctions, it was tasteless, unscented, and impossible to detect save by a trained expert. 

It was not much longer until Moreau’s voice died down. A brief glance told Erik that most in the room had fallen asleep, save the singers, and they hovered on the edge of exhaustion. He breathed a sigh of relief that his risky plan had succeeded. If any had remained aware the entire mission would have been in danger. Uncoiling several of the lassos he carried, he bound the mercenaries and ordered the performers to run while Moreau’s men were unconscious. He stopped one, a chorus girl from the Populaire, before she could flee as well.

“Are there other prisoners?” he demanded.

She had only been a captive for two days. As such, her mind was still clear, and she recognized the infamous Opera Ghost. She nodded, fearing his legendary wrath. “Oui, monsieur. The third floor. Christine Daaé is still there. She refused to perform earlier and collapsed.”

“Lead me to them,” Erik ordered.

She glanced at him warily. “Of course, monsieur. Thank you, for freeing us.”

“Take care not to be captured again. I have no time for so many. Leave Paris if you can, or seek out Madame Giry. She will assist you.” He seized the girl’s wrist as she turned. “Christine – how is she?”

“I don’t know, monsieur. She did not look well when I saw her earlier, even before she fainted. Tell me, are you the man I heard of that helps the demon’s victims?”

“Many times before, yes. Hurry; the draft will not last forever and I would prefer to be long gone when they awaken.”

She led him up the steps and to cells that had once been bedchambers. He picked the locks on the rooms that contained the others and sent them off with the girl – Clarisse, he thought her name was. 

“Take them and be gone from this place. Let the others know what I have told you.”

“Oui, monsieur. Thank you.”

“Yes, yes. There will be a man named Adrian in the Petit Cheval Inn. Tell him I sent you; he and the others will help you hide. Go, the lot of you.”

Clarisse dashed off, pulling the others with her. Erik turned his attention to the last door and began focusing on the mechanism blocking him from Christine.

The lock was more complex than the others. Erik surmised Christine’s angelic voice was the prize of the collection or Moreau would not have taken extra care with her. Erik had many years’ experience though, so it only took a minute to have it disabled and to fling open the door. 

Christine was huddled on the bare floors near a secured window. Judging by her posture and position she was unconscious, but she awoke with a start as he drew near. 

“Shh,” he soothed. “Have no fear, Angel; I won’t hurt you.”

Her brown eyes took in the familiar mask before connecting with his. She flew into his arms, crying silently against his shoulder.

“All is well, Christine. I am here. We can leave this place.”

She drew back and he recognized the renewed terror in her expression, a fear he hadn’t known from her before Buquet. She thought he had killed again.

“No, he is not dead. I rendered him and his men unconscious. Come, we haven’t much time. Your vicomte is worried for you.”

She nodded slowly and took his hand as he drew her from the cell. Rather than returning through the catacombs, he led her to the front door and into the streets. She glanced around before looking at him in confusion. 

It was a good thing he knew her so well and could interpret her emotions through what little her expression could say. “It’s all right,” he reassured, guiding her forward with a gentle touch. “Monsieur le Vicomte had me cleared, Angel. The police will not take me now.”

Her cautious smile nearly broke his heart, fragmented as it already was. She hadn’t spoken, had made no sound at all; he feared it had already been too much for her to bear. Erik escorted her to the de Chagny townhouse and inside, Madame Giry slamming and barring the door behind them.

“You found her!” she exclaimed, embracing her adopted daughter. “Thank the heavens. You are unhurt?”

Christine shook her head. Her foster mother’s lips tightened as she took in the bruising on the girl’s face and how even the showy costume was loose in ways she knew it would not have been mere days before.

“I was told she refused to sing this evening,” he said when she looked to him for answers. “I expect she suffered for her choice. Still, there was no difficulty retrieving her.”

“How did you manage it?” Antoinette asked as she nudged the silent girl into a chair and sent Meg for a medicine box. 

“A sleeping draft in the wine,” Erik answered. “The entire lot went down and I freed his prisoners. One I recognized from the Populaire led me to Christine.”

Meg returned and led them to a bedchamber. Erik went to leave to allow them privacy but Christine reached for him, a desperate plea in her eyes. He sighed. 

“Get behind the screen. Let her clean you up.”

She allowed her tutor to retreat to a chair in the corner before the ballet mistress nudged her behind the privacy screen and assisted her out of the costume. Meg was sent off a second time to find Christine something comfortable. Raoul had not yet appeared.

Meg brought a white nightgown and robe that reminded Erik of the apparel she had donned before she had joined him in his world for the first time. He forced the thoughts away, focusing on the fact she needed his help. Christine emerged moments later. 

There was a bruise high on her hollowed left cheek and a trace of blood at the temple, and she held her right arm awkwardly. He extended a hand and she took it, letting him push back her sleeve and examine the injury. It was a healing cut, the sort one acquired after being struck with a whip. He would not be surprised if there were others. It was not her physical injuries that were the most worrisome, though. 

Madame Giry took over after he was done cataloguing the visible damage, daubing at the wound with a cloth doused in alcohol. Considering possible actions, Erik absently rose and let Raoul in when he knocked. He returned to his seat as the vicomte fussed over her but Christine drew away, turning in Erik’s direction. Hurt passed through the de Chagny boy’s eyes, but he did nothing to stop her from reaching for Erik.

Erik enfolded her in an embrace, understanding her thoughts. He was the one that came for her, so she would only trust him for the time being. 

“Christine will be coming with me,” he said, quiet but firm. “She needs time and a safe place to recover. Moreau will look for her, but he has attempted to gain access to my home many times and failed. You must act as though you are still searching. Be worried, desperate, whatever it takes. Carry on as usual. Madame Giry will bring you to see her when I deem it safe.”

“Can I come?” Meg asked as Raoul opened his mouth to protest but stopped.

Erik shook his head. “Should you vanish from the public eye, it will tell him you know where she is. I am the only one who wouldn’t be missed, as I am out of sight more often than not and am prone to extended disappearances. You will heed me on this. If you do not, you only place her at more risk. We must go quickly, so I need Christine’s belongings packed for her.”

Meg and her mother hurried to follow his commands and Erik shifted his attention to the younger man. “Where is the kitchen? She needs to eat.”

Raoul nodded woodenly and led the way, Christine still curled under Erik’s arm. Erik gestured to a chair as he gathered a few light foods and placed them in front of her while Raoul leaned against the wall. She ate a little before pushing it away, but he moved it back in the same breath. She frowned up at him.

“None of that,” he said sternly, using the same commanding tone he had so often adopted during her lessons. “I know you have been ill-treated or even starved, but that is not enough for a woman that has likely had nothing else today.”

She reluctantly nodded and ate a few grapes as Madame Giry appeared with a small bag. “This should be all you need,” Antoinette told Erik. “If there’s anything else, let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Raoul pulled Erik aside as Madame Giry wrapped her foster daughter in a warm cloak. “Will she be all right?”

Erik’s gaze was perfectly level. “I can make no guarantees, monsieur, except to say I will do the best I can. She meant no offense when she shied from you.” He couldn’t understand what prompted him to offer comfort. A moment later he forced such thoughts away and returned his attention to the conversation.

“I know,” Raoul sighed, tunneling his fingers through his hair, “but…”

“It hurts nonetheless. She will have a difficult time around men after Moreau and his mercenaries abused her. She allows my presence because I was the one that came for her, and perhaps for the many years I spent as her guardian.”

“I suppose you’re right. Take care of her.”

“I always have.”

88888888

Though Erik would have preferred to spare Christine by taking a carriage or horse, day was approaching and they risked Moreau giving chase. He led the way through the catacombs and to his house on the lake. Once they arrived, he sent her to bed and proceeded to arm every trap in the surrounding area, putting all of his domain under guard.

He had barely completed the task when he heard her scream. Erik sprinted to her room, throwing aside the curtain that enclosed the phoenix bed he had crafted just for her. She writhed in the grasp of a nightmare, tortured sobs wrenching themselves free as tears poured down her cheeks. He placed a hand on her forehead but found no signs of fever. 

“Christine,” he murmured. “Christine, wake up. It’s just a nightmare, Angel, a dream.” Her eyes opened and a second later she was crying into his shoulder like she had when he found her. “Oh, Christine. You are safe, my angel. We are alone here.” 

He continued whispering comforting words as she calmed, though she continued to lean against him heavily. She glanced up, wanting to say something but unable to force the words. He nodded and carefully loosened her grip on him.

“I will be back in just a moment.”

He returned with a pad of paper and a piece of charcoal he used for sketching. She accepted them and wrote a few words at the top of the large page. 

Sing for me.

She noticed his hesitation and scratched something else out, speed stealing the delicacy from her usually fine hand as she tried to hold a conversation through writing. 

Please?

“Very well,” he relented, though with considerable reluctance. “I must admit I have not sung recently, unless one counts simple exercises and scales. Did you have something in mind?”

She shook her head and began writing again. 

Why?

He offered her a sad smile, wishing he could ply her with lies that would make her less unhappy but knowing she deserved the truth. “You stole my song. I have neither composed nor sung these last months, though I do still play.”

She looked unhappy but took up the charcoal a fourth time.

I’m sorry.

“Do not apologize. You were not at fault.”

She clearly disagreed but let it go. Neither wished to discuss such issues on paper. Mere written words lacked the ability to express the depths of their emotion.

You do not have to sing if you do not want to.

“It’s all right,” Erik reassured her, because in truth he had missed singing almost as desperately as he’d missed her and would be glad to have that outlet returned to him. “Would you like me to play as well? I have several instruments on hand.”

Violin?

He knew she was thinking of her father. “Yes, I have a violin. Would you like me to play here or in the other room?”

She pointed at the bed.

“Here it is. Give me a moment.”

Christine nodded and did her best to remain calm and patient for the time it took to collect the small instrument. He tuned the strings with a practiced hand and settled it under his chin. First came a series of Mozart’s violin sonatas before he began a piece with lyrics. “The Angel of Music” was a song Gustave Daaé had sung to his young daughter countless times. Though she tried, she could not resist the onslaught of coming tears. 

Erik immediately set the violin to the side and grasped her hand. “I apologize; I did not mean to upset you.”

She shook her head.

It’s just… I miss my father. And with everything that happened…

“It’s too much at once,” he surmised. “Would you prefer I play something of mine until you fall asleep?”

She nodded, lying back after setting the pad and charcoal on the nearby table. 

He played lullabies, soothing songs he had written for Christine when she had been a child and so unhappy. The familiar tunes swirled around her with his enthralling voice, wrapping her in the comforting embrace he had provided countless times before. She fell asleep with the faintest of smiles on her face.

88888888

She fell into nightmares several more times that night, crying out until Erik appeared and soothed the dreams away. When morning came she was more exhausted than before. Erik had not slept at all, caught up in his thoughts and Christine’s needs. When she finally rose, he brought her a light meal and vanished to a back room with a parting order to not wander. 

She complied, however reluctantly. She glanced at his music, much of it comfortingly familiar, but the damage was still too new and she set it aside. Instead she wound through the rooms Erik had stated were available for her use and chose a book from the many shelves.

The book she had selected seemed to be one Erik had written himself, a compilation of fantastic stories written for a mature audience rather than the children that favored such tales. She enjoyed it, but her exhaustion had not waned and she soon slipped into a light slumber. 

At first she did not dream, but as she relaxed, images began to form. They were vague and ill-defined in the beginning, but they cleared, showing things Christine had hoped to never see again. First it was the scene after Don Juan Triumphant. She watched as a specter at her past self’s shoulder, trying to stop what occurred, to talk to Erik rather than make accusations. As she left with Raoul, the scene shifted. She was in Moreau’s hall faced with the same order: to sing their duet or to risk everyone she cared about. 

In the nightmare, she suffered indecision as she had not in life. So many were in danger; could she ignore it because she did not want to sing a particular piece? She began to cry, tears running soundlessly down her cheeks and across her lips as her dream-self sank to the ground and wrapped her arms round her knees.

Erik, who had slept well and felt much rejuvenated, stepped in and paused at the expression of agony on her face. The first words she had uttered since he found her came as she continued to weep.

“Don’t make me sing that,” she begged her invisible tormentor. “Anything but that. There is too much in that.”

In what, he wondered as he knelt by her chair, placing his hand over hers. What would Moreau have asked to provoke such a response? 

“No going back now… I can’t go back, but I can’t give you that. It’s ours. No one else.”

It was easy to understand now, he thought as he shook her shoulder. “Point of No Return” was raved about in the press as audiences wondered if they would ever be able to see the entire show in the glory he’d imagined. She hadn’t yet awakened, but she turned in her seat and clasped one of his hands in hers as she sobbed. He stroked her hair, murmuring useless platitudes. 

This latest stream of tears dried as she woke up. He realized she was trembling hard enough to shake the chair she was in. “Nightmares again?” he asked softly. She nodded as the tremors subsided. “Moreau, or something else?”

She hesitated and he offered her the paper she had left nearby. 

Moreau and… something else.

“What?”

She shook her head. Do you have anything that can help me sleep? 

He considered. “Dreamlessly?” She nodded again. “I have something of the sort. It will not do for naps, however, nor frequently.”

88888888

Christine began to improve after that; the nightmares faded though he only allowed her to take the drug twice. She spoke on a few occasions, never more than a sentence or two. She would call him if she needed him and he was in another room. The progress heartened them enough for Erik to allow a brief visit in the dead of night from Raoul, Meg and Madame Giry.

Christine was still reserved around the vicomte, but she didn’t run away. The women talked for a few moments and Raoul received the same. Erik, wise to the signs, saw how quickly she became weary and sent them away before ordering her to bed. 

She had not sung so much as a note, but speaking was a good start. He imagined given a chance to heal she would do so again. She hummed from time to time if she was absorbed in something else. A few days after her friends’ visit, she stopped using the paper entirely. 

He wouldn’t have admitted it if asked, but having her nearby was not only helping her. Though Erik had conquered his madness in the months after she left, nothing had eased the pain that welled up inside him whenever a thought of her crossed his mind. Now she was there, and knowing she didn’t hate him for the things he’d done in the depths of his insanity made all the difference. 

A few days later she was speaking freely about anything but her time as a prisoner and their past. They discussed many things at length, such as Erik being given the opera house. She admitted that she would like to sing on stage again once she had been given enough time. Erik mentioned going to the police to testify against Moreau, but she balked at the plan and he didn’t press. She wasn’t ready.

Though he could anticipate her in many ways, Erik was shocked at the conversation she broached over dinner three weeks after he had rescued her. 

“Does your mask ever bother you?”

“My mask?” he repeated, startled. He pondered the question before answering. “I really don’t think about it.”

“It can’t be comfortable,” said Christine. “Don’t you grow weary of it?”

“I suppose,” he replied guardedly. “I do not wear it constantly while I am alone, but if I have had it on for an unusual length of time it becomes an irritation.”

“You needn’t wear it around me, you know.”

He wondered why it seemed like every particle of air had left the room. She seemed unbothered, but Erik was finding it difficult to draw a full breath. “I am afraid I am not accustomed to going without in the presence of others,” he said after a long pause.

“I have seen your face before. You cannot think it still upsets me?”

He was hardly used to such a response to the face he considered a curse. “I have not given the idea much thought, though you made your opinion quite clear. ‘So distorted, deformed it was hardly a face in the darkness,’ if I recall.”

She winced, uncomfortable for the first time in the conversation. “I should never have said such horrid things. They were not true, Erik, and I never meant it.”

“Words have power,” he observed. “Yours more than most. I cannot forget so easily.”

She began twisting the napkin in her lap. “I can’t even begin to apologize for all the harm I’ve done you after all you gave me. I should have trusted you, Erik.”

He sighed, setting aside his meal. “There were many wrongs done. It would be best to focus on the present, the future.”

 

“Perhaps.” She glanced at him, silently accepting his desire to change the subject. “You have been wearing your mask all day. Is that too long?”

While that was not what he had hoped to move to, it was at least not referring to the horrible things he had done. “I have worn it longer.”

She gathered the dishes and washed them, returning them to their shelves. Erik kept Christine company as she tidied up, a task she had insisted on. He took several sheets of paper from a drawer nearby and began sketching. Finishing sooner than usual, she moved to peer over his shoulder as he worked. 

Her face stared back at her from the paper in an elegant drawing that once would have disturbed her. She was clothed in the same white lace dressing gown she had worn during her first journey to his house, but she was sitting under the sun in a meadow filled with flowers and long feathered wings adorned her back. She thought it a far cry from the faded blue gown she wore and wondered why he was dressed in his best suit before deciding he had probably been planning on running errands in the city.

“It’s lovely,” she murmured. “How long have you been working on this?”

“A few days,” he answered distractedly. “I prefer drawing while I can see you. My memory does not do you justice, I fear. I work on your surroundings if you are not available. Once I am satisfied with the sketch, I will paint it.”

“What are the other pages?”

He passed them to her as he continued to perfect the tiny details - the exact arch of her brow, the texture of her hair. She watched for a moment before shifting her attention to the drawings in her hand.

Each was of her in various poses. One was herself and Erik during the “Point of No Return” – he Don Juan, she Aminta. They were embracing as they had on stage that night. The second all but broke her heart. She and Erik were sharing a kiss. It would have been impossible to not know the circumstances surrounding the image when it had taken place mere minutes before she left him. Even as Christine mourned the anguish emanating from the page, she was nonetheless astounded by how accurate it was. 

The others were sketches of Christine as a child – when she first went en pointe, her debut as a chorus girl, and other snippets of time. Her life had been caught on paper. 

“These are wonderful.”

“Thank you.” 

She glanced at him. “Erik, I think I should tell you something. I should have told you weeks ago…”

He was alert at once. “What is it?”

“Moreau… He knew about our connection. When I refused to sing ‘Point of No Return’ that night, he made threats. Raoul, then Madame Giry and Meg. I was already frightened, maybe enough to obey, but he couldn’t leave it there. He threatened you too. I think he knew you would come looking for me.”

Erik leaned back. “I suspected as much, though I’d hoped otherwise. I am not sure if he truly expected me to come though, given how woefully easy he was to incapacitate. Still, we should consider moving elsewhere.”

“He knows where we are!?”

“I imagine so,” he said, suddenly weary. “You see, Moreau once desired me as well. Unlike most targets, I have considerable protection surrounding my home and he was never able to reach me. No doubt he knows we are here and cannot gain entrance, though it would be best if we moved until the vicomte and I can see him taken care of.” He noticed the fear and shock that raced across her features and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It is nearly impossible to reach this place without a guide, and the only ones who know the way are loyal.”

“Who?”

“Antoinette, of course, and little Giry. Monsieur le Vicomte has been here, but I doubt he would be able to find his way alone and he would never betray you even if he could. A close personal friend and a few acquaintances.”

“ERIK! CHRISTINE!”

He leapt to his feet, recognizing his sister’s voice and the fear therein. “Come with me, now!” She didn’t hesitate and the two raced to the front room as Madame Giry waded across the lake. “Antoinette! What happened?”

She grasped his arms as she stepped from the water. “You need to leave. Moreau and his men have been prodding at your outer defenses and I fear it is only a matter of time before he manages to gain entry.”

“My traps…”

“They count for nothing against madness, Erik. Moreau is not sparing his men; he has lost many already. I alerted the police, but there is no proof against Moreau and I fear that by the time there is he will have killed you both.”

Christine let out a stifled sound that might have been a whimper and Erik was at her side in an instant, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “We will be gone soon. You should leave before he arrives.”

“I will not abandon you! You are my brother and Christine is as much my daughter as Meg. I couldn’t possibly flee with you in such danger. Let me help.”

He hesitated but agreed. “Get Christine’s things together. I’ll see to everything else. Christine, stay with me. How long do we have?”

Madame Giry shrugged. “A few hours at best. I would not waste a moment.”

“We won’t.”

The elder woman dashed to the younger’s room and Erik shifted his attention to the few things he would need. His newest music and art was all that came to mind, since he knew where to go and it was well supplied with everything else. After looping several Punjab lassos by his side, buckling on his sword and tucking a few small pistols into hidden holsters, he opened a slender portfolio and began placing papers inside, paying little mind to order. Christine hovered at his elbow, shaking in fear. He saw her move out of the corner of his eye and turned to face her. 

“Oh Angel, don’t fret,” he murmured. “I will not let him harm you again, no matter what the price.”

“Is that so?”

A lasso seemed to leap to Erik’s hand as he spun, but he didn’t use it. Christine turned and quickly saw why.

Several dozen men had appeared, with Moreau at the center. Should Erik have attempted to go on the offensive, there were too many for even the Opera Ghost’s wiles. Another man exited Christine’s room, dragging Madame Giry with him. 

“Care to surrender?” Moreau drawled. “You are outnumbered and surrounded.”

“I wonder,” Erik seethed, “if your men would hold together after I kill you.”

“My good man, surely you see that would accomplish nothing! I have someone you care about, you might recall.” A second mercenary leapt up and grabbed Christine, a dagger at her throat. “Your precious Christine is at my mercy as well. If you so much as lay a finger on me, they will die. A pity; Mademoiselle Daaé has an amazing voice. Unless you’d care to barter?”

With a herculean effort, Erik lowered his weapon. “It depends on the agreement reached, I should think.”

“It is quite simple. I imagine you already know what it is I have in mind.”

Erik nodded, expression blank. “You want me in Christine’s place.”

“Such a clever lad!” the man exclaimed. “You have gotten it exactly right. You will give up, and I will release the women.”

Christine twisted against the brute restraining her. “No, Erik! Don’t give him what he wants. Nothing will stop him!”

He looked away. “You have to swear they will be unharmed.”

“I would not touch a hair upon their heads.”

“You will release them before I accompany you.”

“Absolutely not,” Moreau disagreed. “The instant I released them you would be gone. I am not so much a fool as you seem to think. I will give the order to free your rescuer and you will submit. After that I shall do the same for your lady love.”

“Erik, no!” Christine protested again. Madame Giry echoed her. One of the thugs kicked the older woman and Christine screamed in fear. 

“I said unharmed!” Erik roared, voice drowning out the scream as he drew and cocked a pistol. “Should there be even the slightest bit more damage to either, nothing will save you from my wrath! Release Antoinette now, you wretched beast, and Christine shall be freed before we leave this place!”

Moreau nodded to the man who held Madame Giry and he drew back, allowing her room to stand. She found her feet and glanced at Erik, begging him to reconsider. After a moment of silent communication, her head bowed and she swept away. Once she had gone, Erik tossed his weapon aside and let the men bind his hands. He glared at Moreau. 

“Let her go. Now.”

The look Moreau gave him was almost pitying. “I’m afraid not, Erik.” An instant later Erik suffered a blow to the back of his head, and the last thing he saw was Christine suffering a similar fate as his mask fell into the lake, baring his curse to their tormentor.

88888888

Recollections of that moment assaulted Erik as soon as he regained consciousness, and the flare of temper frightened him in its intensity. He fought a silent battle against his raging anger. After he had dulled its sharpest edges, he opened his eyes to take stock of the situation.

It was clearly a new place, the room done in a different style and building material. His wrists remained bound and the discomfort in his shoulders told him they had been for some time, but a moment’s twisting freed him. He rose and strode to the tiny window.

They were no longer in Paris. He knew that as soon as he took in the fields readying for winter. Moreau was taking fewer chances, and he wondered if the ease with which he had freed Christine had in truth been a trap. He cursed and considered his remaining advantages.

A few daggers remained in his possession, concealed as they were, and the smallest of the pistols. None of his lassos were there, but given the size of the catgut coils he was hardly surprised. His clothing was relatively undisturbed, and the tiny vials he concealed within the lining of his vest were intact, cushioned and hidden by the thick felt. Lifting his hands to his face, he recognized the lack of his most constant shield. Searching the hidden pockets of his jacket, he located a soft black mask similar to the one he had worn during Don Juan Triumphant and settled it in place. 

A second later Erik heard the unmistakable sound of someone approaching the door to his prison and prepared to overpower whoever entered. The move was aborted when Christine was shoved through the opening and he just had enough time to catch her. Moreau and two of his goons strode in as Erik held her close. 

“It seems Mademoiselle Daaé was uncomfortable in her quarters,” the Marquis drawled. “She insisted she be allowed to remain with you. Since she claims she will sing more beautifully if I allow it, I decided to be generous.”

“This is what you call generous?” Erik sneered as he set Christine on the meager cot. “We had a bargain and you broke it out of greed. You do not understand generosity.”

“Does it matter?” Moreau asked. “You should have known as much. The girl tried to warn you.” He moved to the door. “You will be expected to perform tomorrow night, so I hope you can if you want Mademoiselle Daaé to remain under your care.”

With that parting remark, the door slammed shut once more as Erik shifted to face Christine. She opened her eyes slowly. “Erik… Are you…?”

“I’m well,” he reassured her. “I have had worse, though I lost a few hours.”

“Oh, no… I can’t believe it. I thought I was free of him.”

He brushed a loose curl from her face as he knelt beside the cot. “I know. Still, we can get through this. I am glad you convinced him to let you stay with me. Are you willing to listen to your old teacher after so long?”

She nodded, clasping his hand. “Of course. Anything.”

“I have something to teach you. You must sing, Angel. Can you do that?”

She bit her lip as she considered. “I can try. What will you teach me?”

“Do you remember when I first showed myself and we went to my home?” he asked. When she nodded, he continued. “I can teach you to hypnotize with your voice.”

“How?”

“It is most effective if you share a connection with the person you are attempting to influence, but some people are more susceptible than others. Opposite genders have the greatest power – a man to a woman, a woman to a man. It can be extended to multiple targets. You have already done so once.”

“What? When?” 

“While we were singing my Don Juan. I was largely responsible, but you were doing so as well. I believe you were mimicking me like you did during our lessons.”

Her brow furrowed as she considered. “Even if it is best between opposite genders, why not do it yourself? You have more experience.”

“Moreau is watching me,” he told her. “He will be prepared for any move on my part. More, if he has any sense he saw what happened during ‘Point of No Return’. My influence was clear, but he will not know you can do the same. I do not think he will suspect you. No, I will foul an attempt. He’ll think I have made my play and be less cautious.”

“I mean no offense,” Christine began as she sat up, “but this seems… dangerous. He will most certainly hurt you for trying anything.”

Erik rose and paced their cell. “I expect so. Still, I see no other path since I cannot guarantee the others will be able to help us. He thinks your fear of him will keep you docile and under his control.”

“And you don’t think it will?” she asked. She didn’t deny Moreau frightened her terribly. 

He managed a tired smile. “No. You refused to sing for him though he threatened everyone you cared for. I have known you for years, and you are braver than you think. I have the utmost faith in you. Still, we will not begin tonight. I am weary, and my head still aches. The lessons will be easier if my mind is clear.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” she admitted. “Or where. There’s only one cot.”

“I can help with the first problem, though I have no ideas for the second.”

“Maybe if you sat on the cot and I leaned against you? It will be uncomfortable, but less so than sleeping on the floor.”

He smiled, more genuinely than before. “Will you be comfortable so close to me?”

“It should be fine. After all, we spent a great deal of time together. How would you help me sleep though?”

“Hypnosis. I can sing until you forget where we are and what happened. You will rest as if you had taken the medicines I gave you in my home.”

“You will sing?”

He wondered why that thought still pleased her after all the suffering he’d caused her. “If you would like me to do so.”

Christine nodded, so he followed her suggestion and took a seat on the cot after removing his outer garments, back pressed against the wall. She curled into his chest as he spread his cloak over them. “What will you sing?”

“I was going to use the song I sang that first night,” he murmured. “My ‘Music of the Night’ seems to have a powerful effect on you.”

“All right,” she yawned. He supposed her exhaustion was catching up to her despite the nearby threat. “Will I remember it in the morning?”

He smiled against her hair. “I mean to ease your thoughts of Moreau, not to create a complete blank. Yes, I expect you will. Shall I begin?” 

“Please,” she sighed against the soft linen of his shirt. 

Erik hummed two bars of introduction before letting the lyrics glide into the air. “Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses…”

The song had barely ended before she was asleep. He watched for any sign of impending nightmares or physical discomfort, but found none. Closing his own eyes, he began clearing his mind as he sought the comforting reservoirs of music that he depended on all his life. As though an orchestra began, melodies wove through his thoughts. He slept shortly thereafter.

88888888

Christine did not want to perform for Moreau. There was no question; she did not want to sing. Erik sighed, massaging his temples.

“We have no choice. You must realize that.”

“I don’t care!” she shouted, fists bunching at her sides. “I won’t do it. I can’t! There is no way I can sing for that vile man again.”

“And I want to, is that it?” he asked, acid in his raised voice. “Do you think that I enjoy the idea of using my most precious gift for his sick pleasure?! The thought of it makes me ill, but I see no other option! If we do not, he will separate us and we will not be able to set our plan in motion. Would you prefer to be alone?!” He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. “I understand your reluctance, Christine, but there is no other way. If you refuse he may kill you.”

She winced, biting her lower lip as she considered. “I don’t think I can go through with it, Erik! I am not that strong!”

Taking a seat on the cot, he gestured for her to join him. “You are strong. Truly. I know it is unfair to ask when you are still recovering, but I need you to believe that I can protect you. I am doing everything in my power to get us through this. If we do not sing tonight, I will have to find another way to escape, and that could take a very long time indeed.” He leaned back, considering. “I could make it easier for you.”

“How?” She realized before he could respond. “You would hypnotize me?”

“While I know it is difficult to allow me such control, you would be unaware of the events around you and would not have inhibitions keeping you from singing.”

“Moreau might realize. After all, you have to sing.”

Erik laughed low in his throat. “As I said, there are factors to consider. The genders, susceptibility, a personal link – each are true in this case. I could put you in a trance before the guards come. It will hold long enough to begin performing, and I can maintain it while we do.”

“And if we do not sing together?” Christine frowned.

“That is unlikely to be the case. Right now Moreau is interested in what we can do together. The only example was our duet, so he will want to test our limits. While I will not be able to do so every time, I can ease your fears tonight.”

“He will make us sing ‘Point of No Return’.”

“It has only been performed once on a distant stage, so he will want to see it more closely. I suspect he will use it to test you as well, since you refused before. He knows you do not want to and is looking for an excuse to keep us apart.”

“Then why allow it now?”

He shook his head. “Christine, you must understand that he is not sane. Sane men can be predicted and reasoned with. A madman disdains logical thought and often acts irrationally. That is what makes him dangerous.”

“You seem to understand him,” she observed quietly.

“There are many points in my life where I myself have been less than sane. While I have become stronger, I still know the thoughts of a madman.”

She laid one hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

A faint smile flitted across his expression. “While I appreciate the concern, now is not the time to delve into my rather sordid past. We have not reached a decision about tonight.” He saw her hesitate. “Christine, I swear I will tell you the truth someday, but it cannot be now.”

She sighed and relented. “Very well. When do you think we will be summoned?”

Erik turned his gaze to the window. “Within the hour, I expect. It will only take a moment to begin the trance. I will do so when we hear the guards approach.”

“Erik?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you return to the house on the lake? Why did you not leave the opera house behind, or Paris altogether?”

“For you,” he answered simply.

“Me?” It shouldn’t have surprised her after everything she’d seen, but it did.

“Who else? Letting you go took every bit of strength I possessed. I could not bring myself to abandon you completely, so I remained in a place you knew in the event that you should need me.”

“But the police…”

“I waited several days before I returned. Once I had, I sealed the entrance they used. There is no way for them to find my home without a guide.”

“Moreau did.”

“Moreau is mad and did not mind letting those who work for him die. The police are unwilling to lose men to the traps that surround my home,” Erik explained. “Now it is not an issue since Monsieur le Vicomte had the charges against me cleared."

“Are you and Raoul friends now?”

“‘Friends’ is not the right word. We are not actively enemies, but there is a great deal of resentment between us and I do not expect that to change.”

“At least you’re not fighting,” she said optimistically. “Do you think he will be looking for us?”

“Certainly,” he answered. “Antoinette will have gone to him as soon as she left. Since she was both victim and witness, they will be able to involve the police. I cannot guarantee they will be able to help us, but they will be trying.” He paused to listen. “Someone is coming.”

“For us?” 

“I assume so. Shall I put you in a trance now or can you hold on until we sing?”

She shook her head as she toyed with her skirt. “No, I can walk down there on my own. I will not be a mindless doll for him.”

“Do you still need me to help you sing?”

“I don’t like the idea of not knowing what is going on.”

“I can alter your state of mind just enough to ease your fear.”

Christine was tempted, but she was determined as well. “No. Doing so may alert Moreau to our plans. I can do this myself.”

“Are you sure?” Erik asked. 

“I’m sure,” she confirmed. “I will not be afraid anymore. I know you will save us.”

He was touched by her faith in him but wasn’t given a chance to say so. The door flew open and three minions stomped in. Two angled for Erik while the last moved to grab Christine. She flinched when she saw how harshly Erik was being treated, but she held her head high and didn’t struggle. He never uttered a sound of protest nor betrayed that it pained him. They were led from the room and it felt like they were being marched to their execution.

88888888

To Christine’s credit, she did not falter as they were led into the grand dining hall. Instead, she shrugged out of her jailer’s grip and moved to walk by Erik. His lips did not move, but she heard him and nearly jumped in surprise.

“I will likely be causing trouble tonight,” he warned. It took a moment to realize he was throwing his voice. He could have been whispering in her ear. “Avoid anything that may anger Moreau. If he pays you little mind, we have a better chance of succeeding.”

She nodded slightly. Her own skills with ventriloquism were rusty and she had never mastered it to the extent he had, so she did not risk trying to respond. Moreau was steps away and would be giving orders soon. 

Moreau might have been a handsome man once, but years spent gorging himself and drinking had destroyed that. His dark brown hair was too long and oily. His grey eyes were deep-set and bloodshot. He was shorter than Erik, and far plumper as well. He offered them what might have appeared to be a genial smile in another situation. It did nothing to hide the poison in his eyes. “Welcome, welcome! I am so glad you could come, my dears. I’m sure you are quite looking forward to performing tonight, yes?”

“No,” Erik replied flatly. “I can think of many things I would find more enjoyable. Torture and death come to mind.” A dark smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Or murder and mayhem. I do so love a bit of chaos in the evenings, don’t you?”

The older man glared, but he didn’t rise to the challenge. He turned to Christine. “And you, dear girl? Surely you will be pleased to sing this evening.”

She didn’t answer. Erik spoke instead. “We will obey your orders for our safety. That does not make it a pleasure, and I see no reason to let you believe otherwise.”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Moreau said coldly. “Perhaps Mademoiselle Daaé has not warned you, but insolence is not tolerated.”

“Is that so?” Erik drawled, ignoring the fact he had just been called a boy when he was only a scant few years Moreau’s junior. “A pity, but I am afraid I have little in the way of social graces after so long alone. I tend to speak my mind regardless of the opinions of others.”

One of the hired thugs lashed out with a whip. Erik seemed unaffected by the blow save for a faint tightening of his lips. Christine cringed but was otherwise unmoved. He was proud of how calm she was remaining. 

“If that unpleasant business is concluded,” Moreau said, all smiles once more, “I believe it is time for you to sing. ‘Point of No Return’, if you would be so kind.”

Christine’s gaze shot to Erik. “I am not singing because you order it,” she said in a low voice. “I sing for Erik, as I always have. Make no mistake about that.”

Moreau lurched to his feet, eyes wild. “You will obey me!!!”

She stood her ground as Erik tried to wave her back. “I will do no such thing. For Erik, yes, but I will not bow to a madman.”

The whip moved a second time, but Erik seemed to magically appear by the mercenary’s side, prying the weapon from his hands before the blow could land. 

“You will not,” he hissed, tone deathly cold, “raise hand or weapon against her. Not if you intend to live.” Erik turned to face Moreau. “We do not obey you save to defend each other. You would also do well to realize you will not be able to hold us forever. I am a resourceful man, and I will find a way.” He roughly threw the weapon away and stalked back to his place at Christine’s side. “Now, I believe we were to sing ‘Point of No Return’. Angel?”

Moreau seemed nearly epileptic with rage, face flushing a dangerous red, but Christine only nodded and began with Aminta’s thoughts of joy and dreams of love.

The music was beautiful, all-encompassing, and compelling. They sang as if they had practiced for years. So much had changed since their last duet, and their relationship was reflected in the song. The audience found themselves falling into the music’s spell. 

For a minute after the finishing notes, there was no sound in the large chamber. They were entranced. While Moreau surrounded himself with beautiful music, this one piece transcended all expectations. It had been nothing short of divine. A few of the men clapped before the weight of the silence stopped them. 

Moreau was the first to focus, blinking as though he had just awakened from a long sleep. “That was… amazing. Both of you can go for the evening. Emil, escort them to their room. I will not need them again tonight. Fetch them a change of clothes and send maids to prepare a bath.”

Emil and two others ushered them back to their cell, locking them in. It hardly mattered, since they had no idea where they were and would be spotted before they could reach an exit. 

Christine turned to Erik, stunned. “Did you have anything to do with that? Erik, you said it was too soon to do anything.”

He offered her a smug smirk. “I do not intend to try to escape so soon. I never said I would not attempt to obtain some creature comforts. Surely you would enjoy a bath?”

She burst into laughter. “Amazing! Moreau must not know what came over him!”

“That would be the general idea,” Erik agreed wickedly. 

The door opened and a pair of menservants stepped in wrestling a large wooden tub while a third followed with a thin dressing screen. The normal guards stood outside, but save for that it would have been a scene of a happy life. Two maids made several trips, bringing hot water, soap, drying cloths, and fresh clothing. 

The door had just closed behind them when Christine began laughing again. “I would have thought that he would have come to his senses and cancelled the order.”

“Yes, that detail occurred to me. It will not, however, occur to him.”

His expression made Christine’s laughter even stronger. “Do you… do you want to go first?” she asked around giggles.

He shook his head. “This was intended more for your benefit than mine, though I will take advantage of its availability once you are done.”

She was about to do so when the door opened once more as the servants carried in a second cot. They set it against the opposite wall and exited as quickly as they had come. “Was that your doing as well?”

“It was not something I specifically required, but I did suggest it might be needed. A cot is barely sufficient for one person, let alone two. I will be tying them together though. We may be favored now, but I will not risk Moreau trying to steal you away as I sleep. Now, your bath is waiting, Angel.”

She thought it was a less than cheerful end to the conversation and hoped it would not disrupt her enjoyment of the bath. It didn’t. The hot water was extremely relaxing, and Erik was singing quietly beyond the screen. As she scrubbed her curls, she saw him drape her new dress over the screen. The water was cooling, so she sped through the remainder of her ablutions and stepped from the tub. 

Erik was still singing, but it was something she had never heard before. She also caught the faint sounds of a scratching quill. Much to her fortune, the provided pale grey gown laced up the front and was very simple to don, and she abandoned the sanctuary of the screen while rubbing her hair with a drying cloth. 

He was leaning against the wall, using his knee to hold the parchment steady, but he glanced up at her approach. “Did you enjoy your bath?”

“I did. Tonight’s gifts included paper and pen?”

“There is also a brush,” he told her with a gentle smile. “I left it by the window.” He set the quill aside and recapped the small bottle of ink. “Is the water still warm? I would appreciate a quick wash.”

“Yes, of course,” she responded with a sigh, knowing he would not reveal his thoughts until he deemed it necessary. “What were you writing?”

“Composing,” he corrected. 

She arched a brow but chose not to pursue the subject as he stepped behind the screen, taking his own change of clothes with him. “When do we put this plan in motion, Erik? Though things are not too bad now, that will change. We are still his prisoners.”

“I agree,” he sighed. “Still, we cannot act yet. If I move too early, he will become far more suspicious of our later actions. I also need time to teach you the necessary skills. Nor can we delay long. You have to learn as much as you can before I take the first step, and quickly.” He suddenly hissed.

“Is something wrong?” she demanded. 

“It seems,” he grimaced, “that I had forgotten about the blow earlier in all the excitement. It saw fit to remind me.” He stepped back out and Christine caught sight of the red welt that ran across his shoulder and upper arm. His heavy jacket had thankfully protected him from anything worse. A few bruises marked his arms and chest, but all were relatively minor.

“That looks painful,” she commented. 

He moved his arm, testing the flexibility. “It looks worse than it is. It does not impede movement despite some discomfort. If I am cautious it will be no trouble.” He lifted his vest from the ground and removed a vial from the concealed inner pocket. 

“What is that?”

“A remedy. It will soothe the ache and promote healing, and requires very little to be effective. My face pains me more than so minor a wound.”

She seized upon the brief statement. “Why does your face hurt?”

He sighed, realizing he seemed less able to filter his words than before. “I have found that the weight of my deformity pulls on my lower eyelid. This causes my eye to dry out and creates a risk for infection. That same weight also becomes painful with time. I can protect against the dryness and infection, but without a proper mask to lessen the drag I can do nothing to ease the pain. The one I am wearing only serves to hide it.”

She stared at the ground for a moment. “What if you had your normal mask?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well…” She licked her lips. “I borrowed one of your extras. The ones lying around the house. I wanted to know how it stayed on without being tied.”

“Do you have it?” he asked, a touch of happy surprise in his voice.

She nodded. “I put it in my skirt pocket. It was still there earlier. I would have given it to you sooner had I known you needed it.” She grabbed the dress and pulled out the familiar white leather. “How does it work?”

“These took years to design and are specifically structured to hold the mass up, preventing it from keeping my eye open.” He examined the one in question. “This is not one of my better works aesthetically, but it will do. It is certainly an improvement over the one I was using.” Rather than putting it on, however, he set it on the ground near the bathtub as he disappeared behind the screen again. She heard him step into the water and retrieved the hairbrush, beginning the arduous task of disentangling her unruly curls. The motion of the brush stopped moments later.

He finished quickly and stepped out wearing the white mask rather than the black. Folding away the screen, he leaned it against the wall as he glanced at her curiously. “I may be wrong, but I assumed you were caring for your hair?” At her puzzled expression, he continued. “The brush will accomplish more if you use it.”

Her gaze moved to the object she had just realized she was clenching tightly enough that it had left an imprint on her palm. “Right. Of course. Naturally.”

He sighed and began organizing their few belongings. “Brush your hair, Christine.”

“Erik?”

He glanced up. “Yes?”

She chewed her lower lip nervously. “Could you help?” She held out the brush. He knew her hair was difficult to care for – Madame Giry had said so shortly after Christine arrived at the opera, a matter of days before their first encounter. He reminisced about those happier times for a few precious moments before focusing. 

He accepted the item in question and sat behind her on the cot. “Hold still, and tell me if I hurt you.” She nodded, but he stilled her head before he began running the brush through the damp mass. “Did Meg do this for you while you lived in the dormitories?”

“Yes,” she responded. “Sometimes it was Madame Giry or one of the other girls, but Meg did it most of the time”

“The curls?” he speculated aloud, carefully smoothing a difficult snarl. “No doubt they become tangled as you wash and dry your hair.”

“Very,” she admitted, trying to smother a yawn. 

He laughed. “Tired, Angel?”

“A little.”

“This will not take much longer,” he assured her, working quickly. “You will be able to sleep as soon as I finish and arrange the beds.”

“How are you going to tie the cots together? You have rope?”

He shook his head. “You are inquisitive this evening. Not rope, no. I have a short length of cord I will be using. I learned to be prepared for any eventuality years ago and keep a great many useful items on my person whenever I am going into the city.” She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he cut her off. “I’m finished. Give me a moment to set up the cots.”

She nodded and stood, leaning against a wall as he moved the little beds together. He efficiently bound the legs with the cord, tying strong knots to ensure it would hold. Once that was done, he spread the blankets and stepped back. 

She could not hold back the yawn this time. “I am rather tired,” she said just before another came.

He smiled. “Then get some sleep, Angel.”

“Will you?”

“Soon,” Erik assured her. “Go to bed.”

She obeyed but turned to him one last time as she closed her eyes. “Erik?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m glad I am not here alone, but I’m sorry I got you involved in this.”

He sighed. “Moreau always meant for me to be involved, Christine. None of this is your doing. Now sleep.”

She was beginning to have a difficult time focusing. “Good night.”

“Good night, Angel.”

88888888

Erik was already up when Christine awakened the next morning, rubbing sleep from her eyes. He was again seated on the floor near the window writing. She pushed back the blankets and stood, shivering.

He stopped working for a moment. “Good morning.”

“As good as it can be, I suppose,” she answered. “How long have you been up?”

“An hour or so. I am unaccustomed to waking to sunlight.”

She yawned and brushed her hair from her face. “That makes sense, I suppose. Now what? We are not going to be summoned again until tonight.”

Erik set aside his papers and rose as well. “Now we begin your training. I will not expect perfection, Christine, but you need to learn as much as you possibly can.” He frowned and paced. “We shall begin as we always do, I think. You sang spectacularly last night, but there were some errors in technique. No doubt it is because you have not been practicing. Scales. Begin.”

Christine obediently took a singer’s stance and started her scales. He corrected her posture from time to time – the angle of her head, straightening her spine. Once he was satisfied she remembered the basics, he ordered her to sing an aria of her choice in order to gauge her current ability and to see how much damage her technique had suffered in his absence. 

She was inhaling for the first note when a man strode into the room. “What are you up to?” he demanded. “You’re to save your voice for performances.”

Erik favored the mercenary with a particularly powerful glare, and the other man backed away as a rabbit might from a stalking predator. “Your master demands perfection, does he not? I am continuing Miss Daaé’s lessons. She has not received formal training in some time.”

His words threw the guard off, and he exited in confusion. 

“He will tell Moreau,” Christine observed. 

“Of course,” said Erik. “There is no way to tell I did not give the whole truth, and I did publicly admit to being your teacher at the masquerade. The aria, if you please.”

She began singing with gentle power, just as he had taught her. Volume was necessary on stage, not when your audience was three paces away. 

He waited as the last notes faded. “From Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde? An interesting choice, but well done. Now, you are not holding the highest notes as well as I would like. ‘Think of Me’. Remember, diaphragm, then lungs, and mind your stance. Begin.”

Think of me, think of me fondly, when we’ve said good-bye…

“Much better. I am glad you have not forgotten everything I taught you. Now, Angel, you must understand teaching you this will be an adventure for us both. You have done what we need before by mimicking me, so that is how we will start. Ensure you can hear the subtleties in my song and use it in your own. ‘Point of No Return’. Begin.”

He stopped frequently to clarify the tone. After several hours she was able to produce the undercurrent that could be used for hypnotism, though not consistently. 

“You have heard me use it before,” he explained. “Can you recall? It would have sounded like a vague echo. Again.”

She sank onto the cot. “I’m tired.” She didn’t add that it was emotional as well as physical; she didn’t need to.

Erik softened when he saw the weariness in her face. “Very well. That shall be all for today. Try to rest; I will wake you when we are summoned.”

Christine nodded, already half asleep. “Am I making any progress?”

“Yes,” he reassured her. “A great deal. We will be ready to make our move when the opportunity arises. Sleep, Christine.”

He watched until he was sure she was asleep, then returned to his papers. He had been composing like he said, but he had also been making plans. Any time not otherwise occupied was spent watching from the small window. He took note of the direction any visitors came from, as well as the wooded area to the east. If it was decently sized, it could be used to hide when they made their escape. He examined the plans. They would have to be hidden for Christine – Erik doubted he would be allowed to stay with her after their false attempt, and she would need whatever information he could leave her. 

Once he was satisfied, he made sure every possible useful item was tucked away in the hidden pockets of his clothing and changed from the loose garments he had slept in to the better fitting formalwear he preferred. 

Christine began to stir, but Erik was at her side in a moment. He recognized the signs of impending nightmares and began singing softly, lacing it with quiet suggestion. Sleep, the song said. Do not fear the outside world; it cannot harm you. 

She quieted with the words, a smile on her lips. He moved to the window once more, observing the sparse comings and goings. He was confident in his ability to lead Christine back to Paris, but he worried over the state he might be in when it came time to do so. Moreau would not take his false attempt well and would doubtless make him suffer for it. He could only hope Moreau’s desire for his talents would spare him anything too horrible. 

Erik growled low in his throat. The plan needed him to be strong, but that was dependent on a madman’s whims. Would he be able to free them if things went worse than he anticipated? 

“Erik?” Christine murmured as she woke up.

He had completely lost track of time. The room was dark, the moon too thin to give light and the few candles exhausted. “I am here, Angel. By the window.” He watched her cross the room to him and caught her when she stumbled. “Be careful.”

“I apologize,” she said, embarrassed. “I could not see very well, though you seem to have no problems.”

He smiled faintly. “The result of many years living underground, though admittedly I have always been able to see quite well in the dark. It was disconcerting to those around me.”

“It’s cold.”

He allowed her to slide next to him and wrapped his cloak around them both. “A bit chilly, perhaps. You could have remained abed.”

“Will Moreau be asking for us soon?” she asked.

“Yes. He has no other singers here, so we are his sole means of entertainment.”

“None? How do you–?”

“I freed the others while searching for you. I have not seen anything that would indicate the presence of other prisoners, and my instincts tell me he focused solely on retrieving us. Did you see anyone last night?”

She shook her head. “Will that make things more difficult for us?”

“To escape? Yes. It means we will be watched carefully. If that had not been the case, I do not doubt I would already have discovered a way out. As things stand, I cannot remove us from this room without raising an alarm. That is why our plan must be carried out in the hall.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “What if this doesn’t work?”

“You must be strong,” Erik urged. “It is a sound plan. You already show some skill in hypnotism. Plans can fail, but I have done everything possible to ensure success. Remember, Madame Giry went to the police. She and Monsieur le Vicomte will be searching for us.”

She sighed and leaned against him, staring out at the night sky. “I know. I am still afraid. I do not know how you can be so brave, Erik.”

“I have seen worse.”

They stood together for a long time. Christine’s eyes were on the glimmering stars. Erik continued to observe the surrounding area, needing to know more. Finally, he heard an approach.

“I believe our reprieve is over,” he said quietly. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “If you can be strong, so can I.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Very well. No doubt you will sing beautifully.”

The guard stepped in, a bundle of fabric in his hand, and set a candle down. “For the girl,” he said gruffly.

Erik took the costume. “Absolutely not. She will not be flaunted so blatantly. You may tell your master that.” He cast it to the ground to emphasize his statement.

“Erik, no,” she argued, reaching for the material.

He shook his head and kicked it into a corner. “We have said we will sing. That does not mean I will allow him to mistreat you.”

The mercenary moved forward until he was toe to toe with the masked man. “The marquis gave the order,” he growled. “You’d better obey.”

“Obey?” Erik scoffed. “I am no hound, doing tricks for rewards. I am not frightened of you, and neither will I allow you to treat her like anything but a lady.”

He raised a fist, likely planning to take advantage of his greater size and weight, but Erik had the advantage in speed and agility. The Phantom ducked and slammed his elbow into the mercenary’s gut, knocking him back several paces. A moment later, he lashed out with one leg and knocked his opponent to the ground. 

“As I said, I am not frightened of you and I will not allow such disrespect. Take your miserable carcass from this room and tell your master.”

It could have been amusing to watch the huge man scuttle from the room like a frightened child, but the trouble it might bring dulled Christine’s enjoyment. “What will Moreau do?”

He shrugged. “He hardly expects me to remain complacent; I am merely obliging.”

“But…”

“This will amount to little. No great harm will come from my fighting him over a costume – I am too valuable.”

“It is disturbing to hear you speak of value,” she admitted. “It feels as if we are objects rather than people.”

“Men like Moreau see no difference. To him, we are indeed objects to be toyed with and discarded at whim. Though I do not mean to sound vain, I am uncommonly gifted, which makes me exceptionally difficult to replace. He may shout, perhaps do me some small physical harm, but he will go no further over something so insignificant.”

“Do you not care?” asked Christine. “You speak of a beating so casually.”

“My fear is for your sake, not mine,” he replied. “I have taken a beating many times before. Physical pain does not deter me.”

She protested. “Your behavior could get you killed! You were not here before; you didn’t see. He is mad, Erik! What you see as a trivial matter could be far more to him!”

His expression softened. “The concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. I understand madness, Christine. I was lost in my own for some time.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, biting her lip. “I don’t mean to summon painful memories.”

Erik shook his head. “They cannot be avoided. Rest assured you are doing me no harm.” He paused and listened. “Someone is coming again.”

“Moreau?” Christine guessed anxiously.

“Perhaps. It is entirely possible he will choose to overlook my behavior. You needn’t fret, Angel. I shall be fine.”

It was the same guard, but he made no threatening moves and merely beckoned them out. As they went, he gripped Christine’s shoulder. “To make sure you don’t try anything,” the mercenary explained needlessly. 

Erik’s eyes narrowed at the implied challenge. “The marquis would do well to remember that harming her would bring far more trouble upon him than he could ever be prepared for. However, he is in this correct. I will do nothing to jeopardize her.”

“Then go. The marquis is waiting.”

Erik turned, cloak billowing behind him. The guard’s grip was painful, but she did nothing to betray the discomfort, knowing how her teacher would react. 

The great hall was a lavish display of wealth that was too gaudy, too garish. It was no haven for the music of the night. Erik’s mind traveled to his elegant homes, both the house on the lake and the manor estate he rarely visited. Either was vastly preferable to Moreau’s mansion of horrors. He was no angel, regardless of what Christine said, but he had never sunk so low as to torture those that had done no wrong. Moreau epitomized everything Erik despised in humanity, and that list of qualities was by no means short. 

His gaze settled on Christine. She was still wearing the grey dress Moreau had sent her and to him, she truly could have been sent from heaven. It was not just her form. Her beauty, while considerable, was hardly meaningful to him. Her voice and caring soul drew him to her, a willing moth to the flame. In that moment, he knew he would never stop loving her. Would he be strong enough to let go a second time if that was her choice? Could he survive another rejection?

Yes, he decided. Part of it was simply that he refused to give in to the world’s cries for his death. She had also indicated she would not simply leave. Even if he could not be with her as he desired, he would accept her friendship as one of the rare lights that shone in his bleak life. It had taken too much to draw himself from the depths of madness. He wouldn’t fall a second time. He would free her if she asked. 

She glanced up, surprised to find him staring so intently. One brow quirked, silently asking if something was troubling him, but he only shook his head in response. He had resolved the issues plaguing him. All that remained was to free her from the trap they were in. 

The marquis strode in like a fussy peacock. He was dressed in a suit of burgundy velvet Erik found particularly tasteless, though he was not surprised that the man would try to be the fashion plate so many noblemen believed would make them more attractive. Moreau took his place at the head of the table, waving his prisoners closer.

“Have a seat,” he ordered. “Eat something. Then you may sing.”

Erik did not move. “It is poor form to sing just after a meal. Doing so only decreases the strength of the performance.”

Moreau glared at him for daring to contradict yet another command but nodded. “True, I suppose. Would you care to begin?”

“You know already that I do not care to have anything to do with you. However, I have no arguments with singing first.”

“Erik…” Christine murmured, laying one hand on his shoulder. “Don’t anger him.”

“Yes, Erik, don’t anger me,” Moreau mocked. “You should heed the girl, since she is obviously far wiser than you.”

“You mistake caution for wisdom. I do not care for caution,” Erik said calmly. “I lived cautiously for a long time. I find myself quite disenchanted with it.”

The marquis took several great heaving breaths until the crimson wash to his sallow skin faded. “Sing,” he ordered. “Then you may eat while Mademoiselle Daaé performs.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Something from Hannibal.”

Erik complied. The performance’s technique was flawless, but Christine, who had been exposed to the true extent of his nearly boundless ability, heard none of his usual passion. Noticing all attention was directed away from her, she tried to throw her voice as he did, glad of the few minutes he had spent re-teaching her the technique.

“Erik, you will only bring more harm to yourself if you do not really try,” she warned, carefully stilling her lips. “Please do not get yourself hurt on my account.” She knew he heard her when he turned his head her way. It was a tiny motion, too small to be observed by any who didn’t know him well. 

During a break in the piece, his voice came to her. “He will not realize, Angel. You worry too much.”

His words seemed true, since Moreau made no comment upon the completion of the song. “Now you. Elissa’s aria.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Elissa’s aria,” their captor repeated. “It was the song that earned you your sudden rise to fame, so you should remember it. I wish to hear it.”

She was tempted to refuse but Erik spoke again, just to her. “There is no harm in it, Christine. Do as I did. Divorce yourself from the situation. Your technique is stunning. They will not note the absence of your soul.”

“I do not know how,” she whispered back. “You taught me to sing that way. How can I go against it?”

“Go back to your dreams.”

She obeyed as she always did – stumbling at first, but her voice grew stronger as her mind returned to the gala, as she stood as the star for the first time. Her heart found a place in the past rather than the desolate present. 

She only realized the song had finished when Erik’s hand brushed hers. “You need to eat something,” he urged her. 

Moreau watched as they silently partook of the meal. Erik did so quickly then waited for Christine to finish. “I hope you are not conspiring against me.”

“You are a fool if you think we will allow this to continue. Make no mistake: we will not remain your prisoners forever.”

“You will,” the marquis said darkly. “You have no way to leave this place. I am not so foolish as to allow you to drug the wine a second time.”

Erik laughed, a harsh sound that rang ominously through the hall. “Do you think a sleeping draught is all I am capable of? If you believe that, you are indeed a fool.”

With the false bravado brought on by too much alcohol, the marquis dismissed his captive’s words. “I am ready to retire. Return them to their room,” he ordered.

The guard began to reach for Christine, but Erik batted his hand away. “I will not do anything. There is no need to harm her.”

They were surprised when the guard complied, letting her walk freely. Christine stayed close to Erik but otherwise seemed comfortable. Being shut in their cell was almost a relief. 

She half-collapsed on the cot. “I feel completely drained…”

“Understandable,” Erik said as he seated himself. “You put a great deal of effort into your lessons and sang again this evening. That and the constant fear must be exhausting.”

She reached for him, and he took her hand. “I’m so scared,” she whispered. “For myself, for you, for everyone. He is dangerous, Erik. He will hurt you.”

Erik allowed himself to stretch out beside her, enfolding her in his arms. “You mustn’t worry so, Angel. Think of something happier.”

“Talk to me,” she asked in her exhaustion. “Tell me your plans for the Populaire.”

He acquiesced. “The décor needs to be replaced, of course. The statues will be changed for more tasteful pieces. The seats will be more comfortable so the audience can focus on the production. There will be a new chandelier, a less gaudy one, I should think. Can you see it? Little Giry shall be the prima ballerina, with Antoinette as she always was. Monsieur Reyer will return to his place if I can persuade him. And you, you will be in the spotlight where you belong. Your beautiful voice will awe any who hear it.”

She could see it as wakefulness blended with dreams. The beautiful reds and golds, the decadent seats. And he was there, she realized as sleep descended. He was on the stage with her, just as they had during Don Juan. Together.

88888888

Several days passed in a similar vein. Erik would coach Christine from the time she rose to midday, after which she would rest while he sang her peaceful dreams. They went to the great hall together. Moreau attempted otherwise a time or two, but Erik immediately contested that decision. The marquis had been displeased, but it was simpler to allow it than to face off with the wily Opera Ghost when Christine’s safety was on the line. 

A week after their capture, he ordered her to stop midway through their normal practice.

“Erik?” she asked, confused. “Did I make a mistake?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, you were as wonderful as ever. We are ready. You know as much as I could hope to teach you so quickly. We shall begin tonight.”

“Is that wise?” she asked, trying for the millionth time to conjure up an escape that would not put him at risk. “Can we not simply make the attempt?”

“That would be foolish. Moreau is growing suspicious. If we were to make our move this evening, he would rally too quickly and we would have no head start.”

Christine stared at the ground. “I know you’re right, but I do not like this. How can you put your life on the line so calmly!?”

“Because I am willing to risk my life to win the chance to live,” he answered. “For the first time in many years, I will be able to rejoin the outside world. I am not willing to give that chance up without a fight.”

She grimaced. “Must you use those words?”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, surprised.

“You said you were willing to risk your life to win the chance to live. I said the same thing to Raoul just before Don Juan Triumphant.”

“Ah. I did not mean to unsettle you further, and had I known I would have worded the sentiment differently. Nevertheless, it is true. More, if that is what it takes to save your life, so be it. I owe you that much.”

“You owe me?” she asked. “Erik, you saved me from Moreau. You have taken care of me ever since. Can you truly believe that I would continue to hold you responsible for events that occurred while you were not in your right mind?”

He paused. “I hold myself responsible and expect the same from others. Only Madame Giry has forgiven my actions.” He turned away, staring out the window as he so often did. “You should rest. Tonight will be taxing.”

Christine softened. “If you are not ready to discuss it... I apologize if I upset you.”

Erik closed his eyes and sighed. “It is no fault of yours. The subject is difficult for me and the madness too near. I would not want to make a mistake again.”

“You should rest too,” she advised quietly. “You did not sleep at all last night.”

He laughed faintly. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head. “You do not keep to yourself as much as you once did. I could see it in your eyes when we began this morning.”

“Very well,” he acquiesced. “However, there are a few things I need to discuss with you.” He drew a sheathed dagger from one of his many hidden pockets and passed it to her. “I want you to keep this, Christine. Use it if there is any danger.”

She took it cautiously. “Must I?”

He nodded. “It would be prudent. Moreau is not likely to permit us to stay together after tonight. If that should prove true, I would prefer you not be left defenseless. I have written some plans. They are concealed beneath a loose stone under the cots. Should Moreau separate us, read them. If you have a chance to flee, do so and do not fear for me. I will follow as soon as I can.”

Christine’s brow furrowed. “What if you are hurt? I can’t abandon you here.”

Erik locked his gaze with hers, holding her shoulders. “Christine, I am serious. If you can, flee. I am held here through my concern for your wellbeing. If you are gone, Moreau cannot use you against me and I will not be long in making my escape. Heed me in this if nothing else. Run if you have a chance. Promise me, Angel.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. He began to argue, but she stopped him. “Erik, I can’t. If you’re hurt, I could never leave. You came and saved me when I thought all was lost. I cannot, will not, repay you by abandoning you.”

He sighed. “It would seem we are at an impasse. Let us rest, then. Perhaps these matters will be simpler with sleep.” He stepped behind the dressing screen, changing to the looser clothing. “Tonight will be difficult.”

She curled up on the cot, but she couldn’t settle even when Erik took his place at her side. She kept turning, too worried to even close her eyes. Christine considered saying something, but he spoke first.

“Angel, if you do not calm yourself neither of us will be able to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just can’t stop thinking of tonight.”

He hummed in understanding. “While I understand how you feel, neither of us will do any good if we do not rest. You must relax.”

“I know, but nothing seems to ease my fears.”

Erik touched the side of her face and was secretly delighted when she didn’t flinch. Made bold by the lack of rejection, he shifted until she was tucked against him, her head under his chin. “Would you like me to sing, Angel?”

“Please,” Christine murmured, though some of her anxiety was already draining away. She felt far safer in his embrace than she did at any other time in Moreau’s clutches. “Can you sing ‘Music of the Night’ for me?”

“Of course,” he replied. “It was written for you, after all.” 

The words were so soft Christine had to remain utterly still and silent in order to hear them. She surrendered to the music, letting it carry her back. How shocked she had been that first night, how pleased. Her Angel was a man, and he had at last appeared to her. He had sung so sweetly… Sleep finally claimed her.

Erik smiled as he completed the last verse, which she had missed then as well. “You alone can make my soul take flight. Help me make the music of the… night…”

88888888

“Up! Get up!”

Erik opened his eyes, searching for the source of the commotion as Christine began to stir in his arms. Finally he realized a mercenary stood in the entry to their cell, staring at Christine. The room was pitch-black, and he’d intended to wake much sooner.

“Erik?” she whispered, frightened. “What’s going on?”

He ran his hand over her hair in an attempt to soothe her while simultaneously hiding her face from the thug’s gaze. “The guard is here, Angel. We slept far longer than I expected.”

“Oh,” she murmured, sitting up.

Erik glared at the guard. “Give us a moment,” he snapped.

The leering man shook his head. “The marquis wants you now, Phantom. He didn’t say anything about extra time.”

Christine laid a hand on his arm. “I am ready.”

He sighed. “Very well.” He got to his feet, ignoring the aches that accompanied sleeping longer than usual. Christine rose as well, more gracefully since she was accustomed to resting during the day. “By all means, lead the way.”

The hall was as crowded as usual. It made his false attempt seem plausible, since they would never believe he could control so many people. Christine was shivering, and he offered her an encouraging smile. She did not return the gesture.

“Relax,” he murmured, throwing his voice to her ears alone. “You are the star of the Opera Populaire and a trained actress. Do not let them see you lose faith now.”

She nodded, taking several deep breaths until her expression softened. “I can try,” she replied in the same fashion. 

“Be strong, Christine. No matter what, remember all I have taught you.”

Moreau stood as they approached, once more a gracious host despite the number of armed men in the vast room. “Welcome, dear songbirds! No doubt tonight’s performance shall be riveting!”

Erik’s eyebrow arched disdainfully. “No doubt. What will it be?”

“Ladies first, I should think,” the marquis drawled, reaching for a glass of wine as he began devouring his meal. 

Christine nodded. “What song?” 

“It matters not. A solo of your choice, if you would be so kind.”

She barely kept some harsh words to herself, instead running through her repertoire. Finally she settled on the Queen of Night’s aria from Mozart’s The Magic Flute. The opening notes trickled from her lips and sprang together to weave the beautiful music. It was a difficult piece, near impossible for many, and one Erik had taught her flawlessly in the weeks before her grand debut. The song lingered in the minds of her audience, though she had done nothing but sing as she always had. 

“Brava,” he applauded in her ear, and she turned to see his expression. He always adored her voice, but never had it sounded more marvelous. His eyes were rapturous as he basked in the musical marvel.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. 

The marquis paid no comment or heed to the spectacular performance, dismissing it as one would a stray dog by the side of the road. Erik struggled to rein in his fury. “Now you, my dear Erik. Of your choice as well.”

Erik had already chosen. ‘No One Would Listen’ was his and thus new to his audience. Because of it, Moreau and the others would be intent on the music and listen closely. The words were meant for Christine. In a way, he was attempting to convey his feelings to her again. He would hold all in his sway but release the marquis at the end, letting his attempt be recognized. 

No one would listen, no one but her heard as the outcast hears… 

Only Christine heard the message hidden in the lyrics, lulling the others into a stupor as Erik’s spellbinding voice echoed through the chamber, strengthening all the while. It was his composition, she knew. She recognized the tenderness he always felt when he performed his work. She also sensed the moment Erik shifted his control, freeing Moreau’s mind. It took several seconds for the trance to lift, but he was suddenly on his feet.

“Guards! He seeks to enchant us! Stop him!”

The tiniest of smiles creased his features as he released the men. Several attacked him at once. Erik did not cooperate, struggling against the mercenaries, but he didn’t have his weapons and was outnumbered. Christine cried out in horror as Erik sank to his knees, one hand to his ribs. A final blow sent his white mask skidding across the floor, but she snatched it up and slid it into her pocket before a guard could take it. Eventually they managed to bind him hand and foot as Moreau stalked forward, gaze locked on his kneeling victim.

“How dare you!?” he snarled, kicking his captive in the gut. “Do you take me for a fool? I expected to see an escape attempt soon.”

Erik doubled under the blow but did not voice his pain. “I am not one to suffer captivity quietly. I failed tonight, but you cannot hold me here forever.”

“Erik,” Christine whispered. “Erik.”

He turned his head until he could see her. Moreau followed the movement with gleeful eyes. “Perhaps harming you will not force your good behavior. I could focus my efforts on your charming lady instead.”

His eyes narrowed, emphasizing the distortion of his features. “She had no part of this. Do not harm her for my actions.”

“No, perhaps I shan’t,” the marquis mused. “After all, the girl has been true to her word and has not acted against me. Devon, return Miss Daaé to her cell. She will only be deprived of a meal. The true punishment shall be reserved for you, my deceitful friend. You should thank me for my generosity.”

Christine reached for Erik but the mercenary pulled her away, ignoring her cry of protest. Her teacher watched until she was out of sight before fixing Moreau with a cold stare. “I will not thank you for anything, you foul creature. Beat me, I care not. I bow to no man. I have gone up against greater than you and survived.”

“Defiance will not aid you,” his captor said. “Emil, have your men escort our dear Erik to the dungeons. No… That would not do. Place him in the cell across from Miss Daaé’s so she can hear him scream. It should dissuade her from further action.”

88888888

Christine had been able to contain her fear in Erik’s presence, to ignore the terror lurking in her mind, but he was gone. The madman who held them captive had taken him, and she felt so alone. Tears rolled down her face as she imagined countless horrible possibilities for Erik’s fate. 

“I wish this had never happened,” she whispered into the night. “I wish I had told Erik sooner. I wish… I wish I had been strong enough to prevent this.”

“Fearing for your lover’s future?”

She spun away from the window, facing their tormentor with all the bravery she could muster. “What have you done to him!?”

“Nothing, yet. That is why I am here, dear songbird,” Moreau taunted. “He must pay for his actions and I, generous soul that I am, thought you should be told what lies in wait for your poor, precious Erik.”

Her hands shook as she wound them into the thin fabric of her gown. “What will you do to him?” she demanded. 

“Nothing more than he deserves,” he assured her coldly. “He will be punished for his disobedience. No doubt you will hear his screams.”

Christine felt the blood leave her face. “Torture.”

“Clever girl. He will learn the cost of his defiance. It will prove a lesson for you as well, I expect.” Their captor marched from the room, leaving Christine alone.

She sank to her knees as the weight of Moreau’s words sank in. “Erik, please… Be strong. You cannot leave me here alone. I need you, Angel.”

88888888

Even awaiting torture, Erik’s clever mind searched for ways to ease the situation. His tolerance for physical pain was high, but not infinite, and he had to be aware of Christine’s needs and their planned escape. He could not allow himself to be too badly injured or he would be unable to get them back to Paris safely. 

The situation seemed bleak. He was strapped to a hard table and while he could free himself given enough time, he was under constant watch and Moreau would soon appear. 

His mind turned to his assessment of the marquis. Though he was unpleasant and volatile, Erik suspected he lacked resilience. Had the situations been reversed, Moreau would likely suffer the beginnings of torture well but break quickly. Unseen by his guards, Erik’s lips quirked into a dangerous smirk as his thoughts began to come together. 

Deception was an art, like his music, and Erik was a prodigy in both. He would allow Moreau to ‘break’ him, feigning surrender and begging for his freedom, taking his cues from the men’s reactions. While he would be unable to avoid all injury, his plan would at least prevent a more severe beating. 

His keen ears heard Christine weep across the hall, and the sound was a blow to his heart. She had feared exactly what occurred. Moreau’s voice sounded loudly, mocking her pain, and Erik felt his hatred for their captor grow. She demanded to know what would happen to him. The conversation continued, confirming what he had suspected would come. Christine’s final words upon the marquis’ departure echoed through his mind. She called him Angel, something she had not done since he freed her and the boy. She said she needed him. Strength flared in his heart. 

Still, it would be a difficult performance. 

Moreau strode into the cell, several men at his back. He was far too pleased with himself and his face shone with an unholy light. No doubt he delighted in Christine’s fear and was already anticipating the satisfaction of beating Erik.

“The young lady seems concerned for you,” the marquis laughed. “She rather forcefully demanded to know what would happen.”

Erik chose not to respond, knowing anything he said would create more trouble. With Christine’s safety at risk, he couldn’t give in to the urge. 

Moreau turned to a table loaded down with weapons, running a familiar hand over the instruments of torture. “You must have realized your failure would mean pain, my dear man. Perhaps I should have made that clearer and spared us this evening’s little tantrum.” 

He lifted a slender knife and held it to the light. Erik caught the darkness of old blood on the edge of the poorly cleaned blade. He had taken lives himself, but at least his Punjab lasso was a quick and relatively painless death. He took no pleasure in the suffering of others. 

The marquis ran a thumb down the blade. “You must understand the consequences of your actions. I simply cannot abide those that disobey me.”

Erik scoffed. “I was aware of the risk I was taking and I made it clear I would not obey you. If you allowed yourself to believe otherwise the mistake was yours.”

Moreau’s grip on the knife tightened. It slipped and sank into his finger, making him curse. “Watch your tongue, boy. I have dealt with stronger wills than yours before.”

He doubted it, knowing his will was near indomitable after the trials he had endured from an early age. He would survive as he always did. “If you mean to torture me, do get on with it.”

The first knife stroke was directly across the mass under his eye, and the pain it caused was excruciating. Erik remained impassive. Instead his mind wandered away from the situation. A distant part of his consciousness knew the cut was not deep despite the pain, but he didn’t care. He was leading Christine down the steps to his home for the first time, singing to her. He had no happier memories in his lonely life. 

He could feel the pain and began to react in small ways, allowing the marquis to believe his efforts were producing results. Various weapons made contact with his flesh and agony plagued his body, but his soul did not flinch, remaining in the haven of his memories. He had no recollection of the events that followed, save some vague idea of having been moved. 

His mind returned to the present situation only once Moreau spoke again. “That will be enough for now. Leave him here.” One guard unbound him but Erik remained slumped against the table, allowing his breath to be harsh and ragged. The marquis watched, pleased. 

“My lord,” one said, “perhaps it would be best to return him to the girl. It would serve a warning. If you do not, she may grow defiant.”

Moreau considered. “Your plan has merit, Giles. Take him to Miss Daaé and allow some water for his wounds. Watch them.”

Giles swung Erik’s arm around his shoulder and lifted him. Erik winced at the movement but cooperated since it meant returning to Christine. They shuffled across the passage, and Erik rested his weight against the wall while the guard unlocked the door. 

Christine, who had been sleeping, woke the instant she heard the key and barely stifled a scream when she saw them. “Erik! My God, are you all right?”

Giles shifted him onto their combined cots. “He is as well as could be expected. He is a strong man; no doubt he will recover.”

Erik caressed Christine’s cheek. “It is not as terrible as it appears, Angel. I swear. In fact, I suspect this man is attempting to aid us.”

The guard started. “How–?”

“I have learned a great deal of men’s actions and their reasons. You do not behave like a man who would take part in Moreau’s schemes. Before we discuss this, though, would you be so kind as to fetch some warm water?”

The younger man nodded before racing from the cell. Christine ripped a length of cloth from her chemise and wiped the blood from his face. “Are you truly all right?”

He winced as she brushed his disfiguration. “As Monsieur Giles said, I am as well as could be expected. Certainly I would be far worse if I had not taken precautions. It is not as awful as it seems.”

“It must hurt,” she whispered as her touches removed enough blood to bare the marks. She hissed in a breath but kept her hand steady. “These could become infected.”

Giles barged back in, a bucket of steaming water in his hand. “It is a good thing the marquis said you are allowed the water or I fear the wounds would go septic before you even had a chance to heal.” He offered Christine a wad of clean rags. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “but why are you aiding us?”

“I am here to protect my sister. She is only twelve, but Moreau tried to spirit her away. My family had no way to stop him, so I offered to work for him if he would spare her. Your companion freed tortured souls when he saved you, mademoiselle. He deserves my assistance.”

“We have to do something to make the marquis think his torture succeeded,” Erik said. “My wounds are not serious and I am not hindered by pain. If I recover too quickly, we will be watched more than ever before.”

“What do I do for your face?” she asked, still washing it with the warm water. 

“My vest,” he gestured. She passed it to him and he removed a pair of vials, though the motions made his hands burn. “Mix these into the water. They will guard against infection and dull the pain. Wash each wound with the solution.”

She obediently emptied the medications into the bucket. “You cannot wear your white mask in this condition.”

“I am not worried about it. I have planned our next steps, if Monsieur Giles will swear not to betray us.”

“I will not,” he promised. “You have a chance at stopping this madman for good. I will help you as much as I may.”

“Very well. In three days’ time, Christine and I will escape. I ask only that you prepare some food and drink for us.”

“Erik!” Christine protested. “How can you intend to travel in three days when you are already in pain? We cannot go so soon!”

“We must,” Erik corrected. “As I said, timing is important. He will not expect it now. To ease your fears, however, I shall be in better condition when the time comes.”

“How?” she pressed.

He lifted a third vial from the hidden pocket of his vest. “I am going to drink this once you have treated my wounds. It will make me seem comatose until the drug wears off on the third day. This potion does not only cause the user to sleep without waking. It also increases the body’s recovery rate.”

She took the tiny bottle and examined it. “What if it does not work?”

“It shall,” he said gently. “I made it myself, Angel, and I know its use.”

He chose not to mention the risks of the blend, that if his measurements had been even slightly off he would never wake up. He knew the danger he faced by using it, but he also knew it was the only way he would regain the strength needed for their escape. The side effects would, he hoped, be delayed enough for them to reach safety before they took effect.

Christine gasped in horror when she saw his fingers, taking in the deep slashes and bruising. “What happened to your hands?”

He lifted and turned both, seeing the damage was more extensive on the right. “I imagine Moreau sought to deprive me my music by destroying my ability to play and write my creations. Never fear; they will heal better than he believes. I will be able to do both.”

She washed them carefully and wrapped them in the finest cloths available to avoid limiting his movement. “Help me remove his shirt,” she rejoined Giles.

Giles levered Erik up while Christine stripped off what remained of the garment. Both winced when the gashes in his back were bared to their view. “A whip,” he said. “I doubt he even realized.”

She traced the ridges of old scars still visible under the new. “It’s happened before.”

“Long ago,” Erik said. “Please, Christine, I do not wish to discuss this now. I am tired, and the pain is greater than I like. Clean them.”

“Very well,” she agreed reluctantly, “but they need to be bandaged.” She trickled the medicated water down his back and wiped blood from the cuts. “I think this is the worst of it. Is there anything else?”

“Moreau seems to have limited the damage to my face, hands and back. Unless there is more that I have not become aware of yet?”

Giles shook his head. “I stopped him before he went further, since he had decided you were not as strong as you seemed to think. Your screams were… very convincing.”

Christine’s face turned ashen at the reminder. “You frightened me, Angel. Please don’t do that again.” She backed away after wrapping his torso in bandages, washing his blood from her fingers. “I’m finished.”

“Read the plans come morning.” 

“I will,” Christine promised. “Rest, Angel.”

He unsealed the vial and swallowed its contents, shuddering at its taste. “Thank you for your assistance, Monsieur Giles.”

“I do not deserve thanks for the little I have done.”

“Even a small amount of aid is something we did not have before. I am grateful.” Erik yawned thickly and Christine took a seat on the cots as well.

She offered him a brave smile. “I will see you in a few days, I suppose.”

He ran his hand through her curls. “You will. I would not abandon you here, Angel. We shall leave together.”

He fell asleep with his head in her lap, Christine stroking his hair. Giles left as quietly as he could to report that the Opera Ghost had fallen unconscious.

88888888

Two days Erik spent in the grips of the drug he had taken. Christine made sure to seem distraught and worried whenever anyone came to the cell, but she spent the rest of her time singing the soothing lullabies he had written for her as a child while she cared for his wounds. Giles came to encourage her, but she didn’t need it.

“I have faith in Erik,” she assured him. “His plan will work.”

“How long have you known him? He must care a great deal to have risked himself rescuing you the first time.”

“Erik was my Angel of Music most of my life,” Christine replied. “He has always been there for me. He helped me when my father died and he never stopped.”

“He loves you.”

She bowed her head. “Yes, though I do not deserve it.”

Giles did not press further, leaving a fresh bowl of water and linens. She washed and bandaged Erik’s wounds once more, relieved they already showed signs of healing. 

Moreau ordered her to continue performing in the evenings, and she suffered some brutal treatment. She was not permitted to sing only one song as she had with Erik at her side. Instead, they continued until her exhaustion was too much to ignore. The marquis made unkind comments but Christine held her tongue, reminding herself it was not for much longer. She waited until she was sent back to their cell, tended to her injuries, and returned to Erik’s side.

He was peaceful while he slept, she decided the night before they were going to escape, though she saw the expression rarely when he was awake. He had too many cares. Minding his instructions, she treated his eye carefully with the medicine that kept it from infection. Satisfied he was continuing to improve, she settled on the cot with his head on her lap, humming as her fingers moved soothingly through his soft black hair. Her thoughts wandered back.

How had she left him? It had never been what she desired, but he told her to leave and she did. Why? He was mad, by his own admission, but he had always done his best to give her whatever she desired. He gave her the music she could not live without. She had been miserable the entire time she was separated from him.

…She loved him. She was in love with him. Was it strange that she was realizing it under such horrid circumstances? Couldn’t she have understood sooner? It would have spared them so much pain. Raoul had figured it out, she realized. He knew she loved Erik, and everyone was brutally aware how much he loved her in return. Was that why he had gone to Erik for help? 

So many questions. Her head began to ache as they spun, dancers at a masquerade, and no way of knowing the answers behind the masks. Eventually she drifted to sleep, dreaming of the life they might have had if she had been just a little wiser to her heart’s demands. 

88888888

Erik awoke refreshed despite some pain. The medicine had done its job, revitalizing and strengthening him. The sun’s light against his face warmed his skin and indicated it to be late in the afternoon. He abruptly realized that his head was not lying on the cot as he had expected. He turned and gazed directly into Christine’s face. She was fast asleep, cradling his head on her lap. Her fingers were in his hair. 

Erik tried to extract himself without waking her, but he was unsuccessful. The instant he tried to move her hands, her big brown eyes fluttered open. 

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed. 

He nodded as she released him. “Yes, and I feel much better. Did I worry you?”

“No. I followed your plan and knew you would be well. Are you in pain?”

“Very little,” he assured her, moving behind the screen to once more don his good black suit. “Far less than Moreau would anticipate. Is everything ready?”

“I believe so,” Christine said, “but I’m still not sure what song to use.” He stepped out and she looked to him for support. 

He considered. “It cannot be a duet for obvious reasons, but I have taught you many pieces. Surely there must be one which seems to fit.”

“All I can think of…” she began, but stopped. “No.”

Erik’s lips quirked. “That enchanting tune you sang in the cemetery.”

“One would think your endless talents included the ability to read minds.”

He laughed. “I only know you well. You long for your father and as before you would sing it while searching for freedom. If you are willing to share something so personal, it is an excellent choice.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured, toying with the fabric of her skirt. “It does seem private, but my heart says it is the best.”

“Follow your instincts, Christine. I will not argue your decision.”

She nodded. “Then I shall. My father would be pleased something meant for him helped us attain our freedom.”

Erik touched his cloak but left it draped across the cots. “Giles will retrieve our things before we vanish into the night, but I urge you to dress warmly. It will be a difficult journey.”

“Very well,” she said, stepping behind the screen herself and changing to the clothes she had been wearing when they were abducted. Selected to keep off the chill of the catacombs, it was far warmer than the thin muslin dress she had been given.

He looked her over when she stepped out. “Your lack of proper footwear may prove a problem. In the midst of all else, I had forgotten you do not have boots or better shoes.”

She glanced at her soft slippers with a sigh. They had been suitable for a quiet day in Erik’s house, not a fast escape. “I hope I do not slow you too badly.”

“Worry not, Angel,” he said mildly. “Would you be so kind as to bandage my hands again? I would prefer Moreau not be given visual proof of my recovery.”

She lifted the roll of thin linen bandages and took a seat on the cot, gesturing for him to join her. “I am glad they are healing.”

“As am I, but he will not think me ready to escape whilst my motion is impeded. I will gladly suffer some small inconvenience to avoid rousing his suspicions.”

Once the task was done, he leaned against the wall as she set the medicine and linen aside. “Can I really…?”

“Yes, you can. Have I ever given you false impressions of your abilities?”

“No, but Erik, I’m so frightened. If I make a mistake… I would ruin everything.”

He extended a hand and she took a place beside him under his protective arm. “I would not encourage this if I thought you would be unsuccessful. You will not fail, but should I fear your control is slipping I will assist you. Does that ease your mind?”

She nodded. “Thank you. I could never have survived this without you.”

A faint sound came to his ears. He took a deep breath. “Christine, a guard is coming. Remember, I have newly regained consciousness and am not well.”

“Of course,” she replied, slipping from his arms to kneel in front of him with a rag and bowl of water at her side. One hand rested against his knee as she dabbed the cloth against his distorted cheek.

The door slammed open and the guard, one Erik recognized from their first night as Emil, stomped in. His expression upon seeing the prisoner awake was cruelly amused. “Nice to see the man is doing better,” he jeered. “I thought you were stronger than that. Has your time as a ghost made you weak?”

Christine shot to her feet, enraged. “How can you be so cruel!? Can you not see he has been ill?”

Erik reached for her hand, and she moved back to his side. “Angel… No…”

The mercenary laughed. “A mere slip of a girl protecting the infamous Phantom of the Opera!” Erik’s eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue. Christine returned to bathing the marks on his face, disgusted. “The marquis demands your presence at supper,” Emil said. “Both of you, since he’s awake. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“He is not strong enough to move so far yet!”

“He’ll have to be if he doesn’t want another beating.” The man departed with another bark of laughter and Christine twisted the strip of cloth in her hands until Erik expected it to tear. She dropped to the cot once more, head in his lap as his had been in hers when he woke. He ran his hand over her hair, smoothing the riotous curls.

“He is a terrible, horrible man,” she said through gritted teeth. “How can he have so little regard for the wellbeing of others?”

Erik could only assume she meant Moreau. “Members of the nobility are raised to believe themselves above anyone else. With that in addition to his unsettled mind, it is no surprise he cares little for the fate of those around him. Angel, I am well enough for tonight.”

“I know,” she sighed. Her face was obscured by her hair, but he could sense her frown. “I just worry our ruse will be discovered and you will be hurt again. It would be all my fault.”

“Your worry for me is admirable, but unnecessary. Sleep. It will be a long night.”

“Will you?” Christine asked, one slender hand curling into his vest. 

“I slept these past days away, so no. I will remain by your side though.”

“Sing for me? ‘Music of the Night’, will you sing it for me?”

“Again?” said Erik with a faint smile. “Of course, but do you not weary of hearing the same song so many times?”

“I have not heard you sing for two long days,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I love that song. Will you sing it?”

“Yes, Christine. Now sleep.”

Her breathing deepened and she turned to her side over the course of the song, baring her face to his sight. 

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication… Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation…

She welcomed his touch as she slept, face pressed against his caressing palm. She trusted him where once she had been frightened. He had regained her faith. She heeded him as she had before the Vicomte’s appearance had torn their fragile relationship apart. His heart tripped at the possibility of loving her freely, but he forced the thought away. She had given no signs of altering her decision, and he would not expect her to at least until he had spoken of all that remained between them. He certainly would not do so in the hell Moreau had created for them.

88888888

As he had said, Erik did not sleep in that brief hour, instead focusing on Christine. The sun’s light was leaving the tiny cell as he woke her.

“Christine, you must wake. We only have a little time left.”

“Must I?”

He bit back a startled laugh at her petulance. “Yes, I’m afraid you must. We are leaving tonight, remember? Would you sleep away our chance?”

She shook her head, sitting up. “No, of course not. I apologize.”

“You have a right to be nervous. This is very different from starring in an opera.”

She walked to the window and gazed out. “I wish I was still at the opera house. It was easier, even under your exacting tutelage.”

“I was only so exacting because I wanted you to reach your full potential,” he said.

“I know. I should have thanked you a thousand times over. It would never have been possible without you.”

“Your joy was thanks enough, Christine.” Erik remained against the wall, unmoving, though he kept his eyes fixed on his companion.

The door seemed to fly open as two mercenaries entered the room. One, Erik recognized but could not name. The other was the same as before.

Emil glared, gesturing for his partner. “Let the man lean on you. I can watch the girl.”

The one sent to aid Erik was almost massive, but he offered a gentle hand to assist the Phantom to his feet. Erik took care not to move easily and shared his weight with the larger man. “Thank you.”

The guard said nothing and waited for further instructions, which Emil provided. “Get him to the hall, you fool. I’ll be right behind you.”

Christine watched Erik’s back, searching for any sign he wasn’t sufficiently healed to risk escaping, but it was difficult when he was playing at weakness. His voice drifted to her, unheard by any other.

“Not too long ago, I used your words without knowing. Now I will use my own from the same day. Seal my fate tonight; I hate to have to cut the fun short. But the joke’s wearing thin, let the audience in. Let our act begin, Angel.”

She nearly laughed, but thankfully caught herself as they entered the hall she prayed she would never see again. 

Moreau was not yet seated, staring out of one of the vast bay windows. In lieu of one of his extravagant suits in unusual colors and fabrics, he was wearing loose black silk pajamas and a dressing gown to match. “I had not intended to bring you here tonight, but word reached me that dear Erik has finally awakened. How are you, my friend?”

“Can you truly be so cruel?” He sagged against his support and the man silently assisted him to a chair. “My hands, you monster? Really?”

“It was a lesson, my dear man, and no lasting damage was done.”

“That has yet to be seen.”

The marquis waved him off, turning to Christine. “And you, mademoiselle? Surely you are glad he has awakened.”

“Of course.”

He seated himself at the head of the table and poured a glass of white wine. “Are you willing to sing this evening? Of course, I am aware you have been doing so most of the day for Erik in his repose.”

“Do I really have a choice?” she asked.

“No, I think not. If you sing for a man who cannot hear you, you will sing for me.”

“Very well. Am I to decide the song?”

“Surprise me, little songbird. Perhaps you will know a piece I have not yet heard.”

Christine closed her eyes and gathered her strength. 

You were once my one companion, you were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father, then my world was shattered.

Her first notes were feeble, but she steadied immediately. Erik watched with a critical eye, speaking softly to her now and then to increase her confidence. Men were sinking to the ground, lured to sleep by the power of her words. One of the mercenaries remained awake and began to realize what was happening, but Erik rendered him unconscious before he could truly understand. At the completion of the song, none remained standing.

Erik grasped Christine’s arm and pulled her away, running for the main entrance and unwinding the bandages around his fingers. Giles stood there with a small sack in his arms.

“Bread, cheese, fruit and water,” he said hurriedly as he passed the bundle to Erik. “Your things. Some small items you might find useful. Go.”

“Thank you,” Christine whispered.

“Get to the hall,” Erik ordered. “Pretend to have been under the same spell as the rest of them. If you can slow them when they wake, do so.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, face set in grim lines. “Be careful.”

“We shall. Thank you for your assistance, monsieur, and good luck.”

Erik led Christine into the deepening night and they vanished into the shadows. Giles watched for a moment before obeying.

88888888

The dark was no impediment to Erik, who was accustomed to far worse than nighttime aboveground. Christine, who had far less experience, stumbled frequently as she did her best to keep pace with him.

“Erik,” she panted. “I can’t see a thing.”

“I know, but we cannot stop. Will you be able to go a while longer?”

“I can try.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Tell me the instant you can’t. We mustn’t delay.”

She continued to follow, but the darkness was oppressive and she rapidly tired, her endurance far less than it would have been before she was first taken. “I can’t, Erik!”

Without pausing, he scooped her into his arms and kept running. “Then I will carry you.”

“Your wounds!” she protested. 

“They are not important. We must at least reach the woods before we are pursued. If we are in the open there will be no way to avoid capture.”

“Will we be safe there?”

“Perhaps. Moreau does not keep hounds, but he might locate some in order to find us. We must be swift.”

She allowed him to continue in silence for the ten minutes it took to reach the edge of the trees. He was beginning to breathe hard but seemed undeterred. Once within, the Phantom set her on her feet and grasped her hand.

“Erik…” she whispered. “Will we be able to make it to Paris?”

“You know I can’t give you guarantees, Christine,” he said. “I can get us to the city, but I do not know the extent to which we will be pursued. They have horses. I have no funds in my possession, so I cannot hope to purchase one, and there was not enough time to steal one.”

Christine bit her lip as he led her into the woods, crossing a thin stream in their progress. After more than an hour’s trek, he halted, turning to take in their surroundings. 

“We’ll rest here for now.”

She looked around but couldn’t see a thing. “Where are we?”

“A small clearing.”

“Will he not expect us to stop in such a place?” she asked.

“I imagine he would, but he would also think we would rest on the ground. I do not intend to do so.” He bent his knees and sprang, catching a tree limb and pulling himself up. Once assured of a secure position, he extended his hand to her.

She took it cautiously and he hauled her to his side. “We are too low.”

“We are,” he agreed. “We must climb higher. As high as we safely can. Stay still until I find a place.”

She wrapped her hands around the limb as he climbed, nibbling her lower lip. It seemed dangerous to rest high in a tree for a night. He dropped into sight once more.

“Is there a place?”

“Yes. Higher up the branches of this one cross with another to form a sort of platform. It will be sufficient. We can continue come sunrise.”

She looked up. “I do not know if I can make it.”

“Climb on my back. I will carry you.”

She obeyed with considerable reluctance. “Will this hurt you?”

“You need not worry over it.”

He made sure she had a good grip before he began. It was easier to see as he did – the moon had risen and was visible through a gap overhead. The space Erik had found seemed suitable, but it was still worrisome to have so little between them and a long drop.

“I am afraid,” she said quietly. 

“I will not let you fall,” he soothed. “Come, sit with me. You must be exhausted.”

She nodded. “I must have slowed you down terribly. I’m sorry.”

 

Erik shook his head. “Your welfare is my only concern. As long as we continue with caution the pace should not prove a difficulty.”

She sank down onto a bough at his side, head on his shoulder. “I still worry I move so slowly that I will put both of us in danger.”

“Worrying will solve nothing. Rest, Christine. We are not safe yet.”

She hummed for a moment, considering. “What song was that?”

 

“What?” he asked, closing his eyes. Though he would never admit it, he was exhausted as well. Wounds and two days unmoving had severely drained his energy. 

“You sang a song I did not recognize for Moreau that night. What was it?”

He opened his eyes to glance at her before retrieving his black mask and slipping it on. “I wrote it a short time before Monsieur le Vicomte appeared. I had hoped to one day use it as a way to present my feelings to you.”

“No one heard you?” Christine said, considering his words. “You cannot have been completely alone all these years.”

“I was not, but you were the only one who heard the music as I did. You were the only one that was there. When you first came to the Populaire, you were newly orphaned and very alone though Antoinette and little Giry were with you. You understood my loneliness because you felt it yourself.”

“…Will you sing it for me?”

“What?” he said with a frown.

“Will you sing it for me?” she repeated. “That song. I was so worried that night I did not listen very closely. You said you wrote it for me.”

“Every piece I have written since you came to the opera house was for you. Why should you want to hear one I meant to show my love for you?”

She slowly touched the side of his face, caressing the mask just above his curse. “Because I have always desired to hear your music whatever it was for. I know you love me. Why should it deter me? Despite our past, I do not fear you or your feelings. You do not have to hide. Once I was the only one who heard you. Now I see you too.”

He stiffened under the gentle touch and inhaled harshly at her words. “You play with fire, Christine. Do not tempt me with what I have lost.”

Her lips tightened. “I am being unfair. You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to.”

He took her hand. “I have always wanted to sing for you, but I worry it will not last and you will want me gone from your life once again. You do not have to love me, but I hope you will not vanish when this is over.”

“I won’t,” Christine promised swiftly. “It was a mistake the first time. I hope someday you can forgive me.”

“I never blamed you. I was quite insane that night, Christine. It came as no surprise when you left. I have never been able to deny you your desires. You wished to leave, so I allowed it, though it nearly destroyed me to do so.” Erik paused. “I know I promised you answers, but I’d prefer not to give them here. Sleep. I will rouse you when the sun rises.”

A cold breeze blew through and Christine shivered. “It’s cold.”

“Winter approaches,” Erik said as he opened the bag they had been given. He was pleased to find his cloak inside and promptly draped it around them. “The snows will begin within a few days.”

“Will we have reached Paris by the time that happens?”

“I hope to. Still, now is not the time to worry. You need to regain your strength.”

She turned against him, bodies pressed close for warmth. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“You risked so much to free me when you could have left on your own. It would be wrong to let your sacrifices go without thanks.”

Erik let the silence hold until he felt her breath deepen. “It was always for you, Christine. I would do anything for you.” He gently kissed her brow. “I will not let Moreau take you again. I give you my solemn vow; I would die before I allow it.”

88888888

“Wake up,” he whispered urgently against her hair. “Quickly.”

“What is wrong?” she asked around a yawn.

“Look below.”

She did and hastily stifled a cry when she saw men in the clearing. A group of five mounted mercenaries were at the center, speaking amongst themselves.

“Quiet,” Erik warned. “I want to hear what they say. They cannot see us.”

“Their tracks come this way,” one said in frustration, “but then it seems they vanished. Is he truly a ghost?”

“He is a man,” Emil contradicted. “He probably hid their path somehow. By this time he must know the way to the city. We will continue in that direction.”

“Surely the girl is slowing him. They can’t have gone too far before they’d want to rest.”

“The man is wounded as well,” recalled another. “Could they have really gone any further than this point?”

“Don’t you understand?” Emil asked scathingly. “It was no fever-sleep that left him unconscious. They must have planned it all.”

“I wonder if it would be worth the odds to secure their horses,” Erik said.

“No!” Christine protested. “Five against one? You are still injured, Erik. You mustn’t take the risk.”

He sighed. “If it worries you so, I will not.”

“We might as well continue,” the fourth grumbled. “There’s no sign of them here.”

They spurred their horses and absented the clearing. Once satisfied they had gone far enough to not hear their movements, Erik assisted Christine down from their perch. He passed her a piece of bread and a canteen of water.

“You must eat.”

She frowned at it but took the offering and nibbled the edges. “I’m not hungry.”

“Regardless. It will be a strenuous exertion and I will not have you weak for lack of food later,” Erik said. He drew out a piece for himself and took a large bite.

The bread was dry and stale, making it rather unappetizing. “Is there any fruit?”

He nodded and gestured to the bag. “There is some, yes.”

She extracted an apple from the bag and gratefully munched on it. Unlike the bread, it was fresh and flavorful. 

Satisfied, Erik brushed the stray crumbs from his clothes. “We should continue. It is best to travel as far as we can while there is light.”

“I suppose.”

88888888

It was a wild day. More than once Erik’s quick reflexes and keen ears were the only things that kept them from discovery. To give them a better chance, he carried her up into the trees and across to avoid leaving a trail. By nightfall, Christine was worn through and nearly resented Erik’s endurance. Her feet felt as if she had walked through hot coals and her slippers were gone. She vowed to never complain about the rigors of ballet again.

“Must we go further?” she asked. 

“We will rest briefly, but I want to make more progress tonight.”

She glanced at her long curls and grimaced at the leaves and branches caught in the strands. She began methodically picking them out and tossing them aside. He raised one hand, stopping her.

“Hush. There is someone nearby.”

Christine froze. “Moreau?”

Erik, still listening, shook his head. “No, the pitch is entirely different…” His eyes widened behind the mask. “Antoinette?”

He was on his feet in a flash and lifted Christine to hers. “Madame Giry? Here?”

“I know it is difficult to believe, but I heard her voice. We must go quickly. Our pursuers may hear her as well.” He knelt before her. “Get on my back, Christine.”

She didn’t waste time arguing. He was running through the trees in an instant, silent and swift as a deer. She began to hear voices as well. Madame Giry’s was there, as Erik said, but there were others. She recognized Meg’s sweet tones.

Erik skidded to a stop in front of a horse, causing it to rear until its rider managed to calm it. “Erik! Christine!”

“Madame,” he said. “Monsieur, Meg. There is no time to speak. We must go, now.”

“How?” Meg questioned, curious as to how the two stood in front of her. “We were just coming to find you.”

“Ride with your mother,” he ordered. “Christine must stay with me. We escaped Moreau last night and they have been searching for us since. They must have heard you and will certainly investigate.” When no one moved, Erik’s temper flared. “Now!”

Meg dropped from her mount and was behind her mother in a heartbeat, and Erik lifted Christine to the saddle before leaping on himself. The vicomte watched them worriedly.

“Are you all right?” he asked tentatively. 

“Not now,” Erik said, biting out the words. “Ride. We must lose them.”

He kicked the horse’s side, urging it forward. After a moment’s hesitation the others followed, turning back to Paris.

88888888

They only paused to spare their mounts, riding through the night. Christine dozed from time to time, depending on Erik to keep her in the saddle. The other women began to tire too. Still Erik remained firm: they had to continue.

They finally risked a stop in the still darkness before sunrise. Christine stayed mounted while Meg and Madame Giry paced the tiny clearing bisected by a creek. Raoul and Erik tended to the weary horses. 

“Is there any place we can go that is closer than the city?” Erik asked. “I still do not know our exact position.”

“My family’s estate is on this side of Paris,” the vicomte answered. “We’d be safe there.”

“When would we reach it?”

Raoul turned to survey the sky. “By dawn at the pace we have been keeping. It cannot be more than an hour from here.”

Erik glanced at Christine, who had finally dismounted and was splashing some water on her face. “It has already been a difficult ride. There is more trouble coming.”

“The men pursuing you?”

“Perhaps. It would be best if we moved on. The horses have rested enough.”

“Christine could ride with me,” Raoul offered.

“No.” Erik’s voice was firm. “I need to be with her. If we are discovered, I might not be able to save her if she is captured. I can only protect Christine if I am with her.”

“Very well,” the vicomte acquiesced, disappointed. “I will tell the Girys to get ready.”

Erik nodded before striding to the bay gelding he had been riding. “Christine?”

She looked up from her position on the bank. “Yes?”

“It is time for us to continue. Are you rested enough?”

She sighed but nodded as he lifted her onto the saddle. “I suppose so. When will we be able to stop running, Erik? We cannot continue like this forever.”

“The boy says the family estate is near. It will be a safe haven; we should reach it within the hour if he is judging the distance correctly.”

So they rode again. Erik would pause from time to time to eliminate portions of their tracks. The first seams of light began to touch the eastern horizon as Christine wondered if she would ever want to see a horse again. 

Erik reined in their mount as he examined their surroundings. “Trouble.”

“Where?” Raoul demanded, drawing his sword. 

“South and west. At least five men.”

Madame Giry opened a saddle bag and tossed him a coiled cord. “I thought if we were fortunate enough to locate you I’d give you this, since you do not seem to have one already.”

Erik discovered a Punjab lasso in its loops. “Indeed. Thank you. Madame, take your horse behind Monsieur le Vicomte and myself.” He lifted Christine and placed her behind him. “There is a possibility they will aim to kill. I prefer to have you out of their sights.”

Raoul urged his mount forward, taking a position a few meters from Erik. “They must still want to capture you and Christine.”

“Perhaps, but they have realized how dangerous I am. There can be no certainty.”

“The estate is less than a kilometer away. Can we try to outrun them?”

“It is best to take a stand now rather than reveal with certainty where we are going.”

Meg unsheathed a sword neither man had known she carried. “I can fight.”

“My dear,” Madame Giry censored a little desperately, “it is best to leave such things to those who know how.”

“I do know how, Maman,” Meg said. “I can help.” She jumped from their horse to stand between Erik and Raoul.

The ballet mistress began to protest but Erik intervened before she could. “Enough, Antoinette. Your daughter is old enough to make her own choices, and she fights well.” He turned to the young woman. “You realize being on foot puts you at a disadvantage.”

“Perhaps,” she responded, “but I am quick. I think I will manage.”

“Quiet,” Erik commanded. “They are drawing nearer, hoping to catch us unaware. We must act swiftly. Angel, hold on to me. Do not allow yourself to be taken.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist. He took the reins in one hand, Punjab lasso dangling from the other. 

Seven horsemen spurred into view, weapons ready. Erik’s lasso flew, taking one man from his saddle and applying the exact amount of pressure necessary to render him unconscious. Raoul disarmed another before striking him in the face, dropping him beside his comrade. Meg danced between the horses, unseating the riders.

Unknown to the combatants, there was another foe. He approached from behind, eyes intent on the vulnerable Christine. She turned and screamed as he reached for her, drawing a dagger from a hidden pocket on instinct and plunging it into her hooded assailant’s gut. He fell to the ground as the lasso snapped out, disabling him as well.

The vicomte struck down the final enemy and turned, surveying the battlefield. All lived, friend and foe alike. Erik dismounted and knelt by one’s side, checking for a pulse and ensuring there were no life-threatening injuries. One by one, he made his way through the unconscious men before he stopped by the one that had tried to snatch Christine.

“A stomach wound,” he murmured, examining it. “A painful way to die.”

The man, whom he recognized as Emil when he brushed back the hood, thrashed as he woke in agony. “End it. Please.”

“Why should I show compassion?” Erik asked. His words were ice cold “You have done many horrible things to Christine and I. There must be countless others.”

Emil coughed harshly. “People do terrible things. You should know. Can’t you show mercy to someone that has no other request, who is already doomed? Wouldn’t you rather die without the pain?”

Erik sighed, closing his eyes. Why do you curse mercy? “I would deserve every moment of suffering. It will not matter if I add one more death.” He drew a dagger from his boot and with surgical precision embedded it in Emil’s heart. 

Raoul, who had watched silently, spoke. “We should bind the others. I have rope.”

“Christine?” Erik said, ignoring the vicomte. “Are you all right?”

Christine, trembling violently, shook her head. “What have I done?”

He closed his eyes. “Tie them up,” he said before stepping closer to their horse. He reached into his vest and withdrew a vial, removing the cork with a deft twist. “Drink it.” She shook her head, shaking until Erik feared she would fall from the saddle. “Drink it, Christine,” he snapped. “You said you trust me. Will you not follow a simple order? Drink.”

“Maman, what happened?” Meg asked. Her mother didn’t respond.

 

The soprano took the tiny bottle with unsteady hands and swallowed the concoction. A moment later she sagged against the horse’s neck.

“What did you give her?” Raoul demanded.

Erik swung into the saddle. “A sleeping draught. It will do her no harm.”

“It took effect very quickly,” Madame Giry observed as Meg mounted behind her.

“Christine is quite petite and has eaten little.” He glanced at Raoul. “We should get her to a bed. I only pray she will not remember this when she awakens.”

88888888

Erik doubted he had ever seen a more welcoming sight than that of the manor in the center of the de Chagny estate. Christine remained limp in his arms. 

Raoul summoned stable boys to care for the weary horses while guiding the others to the spacious mansion. Erik carried Christine. “Is there an available room for her?”

“Yes,” the vicomte responded. “We have several guest rooms on this level.”

“So I recall. Might one be prepared?”

Raoul called for the butler, who led both men to a quiet room painted to look like a sunrise. Erik dismissed him as soon as he opened the door and strode to the bed, settling Christine under the quilt. 

“How is she?”

“She will sleep for some hours yet.” Erik pulled a chair close to the edge of the bed and sank into it, weighed down by his own exhaustion. 

“Perhaps… We could speak?”

“Certainly, once she has woken, though she may be distraught and disoriented,” the Phantom replied coolly.

Raoul sighed. “Not Christine. There are a few things I wish to discuss with you. One could say there is unfinished business.”

“I thought whatever business we had was long since concluded by now.”

“What about the Populaire? You cannot hope to finance the theatre’s running costs with your funds. You will still need a patron.”

“I assure you, I have ample money to do as I please. The Populaire will be grander than ever before.”

The vicomte frowned. “We need to have a serious discussion. Do you truly find me so abhorrent you cannot?”

“I was under the impression I was the one you found abhorrent but as you insist, I suppose I shall oblige. I suggest we do so in a different room.”

“It might be wise to ensure none of Moreau’s men make an appearance.”

“Indeed. There are, I believe, eighteen points of access to the manor. Are there sufficient men to cover each?”

“Yes. I employed a number of guardsmen after you and Christine were taken with the intent that they assist when we discovered your location. All are on the property.”

“Set one at each minor point and two at the major entries. I do not think Moreau will attempt anything here, though; we should be safe for now.”

“I will see it taken care of immediately. You will not mind waiting?”

Erik frowned. “I intended to get some sleep, but you insist we speak. What do you suggest I do in the interim?”

“You might like me to care for your wounds, Erik,” Madame Giry said from the door. “They must be paining you.”

The vicomte looked at him, shocked. “Wounds? You were hurt?”

“Not today. I was injured by Moreau’s hand. Christine and I escaped three days later. I will accept your assistance, Antoinette, if you are willing. You must wish to rest, though.”

She smiled. “You must know by now I cannot rest until I am assured my children are well. You are my brother in all but blood, but you are my son at times as well and you need a mother’s aid. Come along. We shall see to them.”

“Very well,” said Erik. 

“Where were you injured?” she questioned.

“My back, hands and face.”

She glanced to his hands, seeing the ugly half-healed slashes for the first time. “I am sorry I did not see it sooner. Are they healing well?”

“I believe so, though I have not had the time to tend them since we escaped.” The three stepped from Christine’s chamber. Raoul turned in one direction while Madame Giry led Erik in the other. “Christine was kind enough to clean them for me.”

“What happened?” She saw his hesitation and pressed. “You can trust me.”

“Do you doubt it? I only fear you will not like the tale,” Erik answered as she led them to a quiet sitting room. Meg appeared with a medicine case and a bowl of hot water, but her mother ordered her to rest.

“No doubt, but I should know. Why were you beaten?”

Erik softly related what had happened since they had last seen each other as she cared for his hands, from the moment he woke in the small cell to the time they crossed paths in the wood. “Of course, you know the rest.”

“I do.” Antoinette’s lips were pressed in a thin line. “It was a foolish risk to take, Erik. You could have been killed.”

It took a moment for him to realize what she referred to. “I was under constant scrutiny. Creating a false attempt assured the success of the true one by hiding Christine’s part in it.”

“You could have succeeded without involving her.”

He shook his head. “Suspicion weakens my influence, and I was inhibited by other things. As a rule, the men were more susceptible to a woman. It might have worked, but we would have had much less time to reach cover. I do not think we would have evaded them and I would not risk her in an ill-favored escape.”

“Perhaps, but you put yourself in terrible danger.” Once she finished wrapping the fine bandages across his hands she turned her attention to his other wounds. “Your shirt, please. Hearing you being tortured must have frightened Christine.”

“Yes, but I was not as badly affected as it would have seemed and she did well caring for me when I was returned to our cell. I also uncovered an ally in Moreau’s ranks. Overall, I would have to say I made the correct choice.” He stripped off his jacket and vest.

Madame Giry drew a hissing breath. “You bled through your bandages. I do not think this shirt can be salvaged.”

“It is unimportant,” he said as he removed that as well. “I have any number more.”

“In your homes, perhaps, but we are not there and we should stay out of Moreau’s reach for at least a few days.”

“Then I will request a replacement from the boy.”

She sighed and cut away the blood-soaked wraps with a small knife. “Your hands are healing well, but these will need careful attention. Some are quite deep.”

“Do any require stitching?”

“I could not hope to say until some of the blood has been washed off. This must have been very painful.”

“I was only vaguely aware of their occurrence and have blocked the pain from my mind since. I could not have freed Christine and myself had I not.”

Madame let out another sigh. “I appreciate what you did for her, of course, but you could be setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

He smiled tiredly. “I know. Every moment I spend with her reminds me of how much I love her. I want her happiness most, though, and I made the mistake of jeopardizing that before. I will not do so a second time. I can be content with her friendship.”

“The sentiment is admirable,” the vicomte said as he entered the room. “I hope I am strong enough for the same.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

He looked away. “It is one of things I wanted to discuss with you. I will wait until we have some privacy.”

Madame glanced up from the wounds she had been washing. “Erik, if you do not relax, I might end up hurting you worse.”

He forced the tension from his muscles. “I apologize, Antoinette.”

“They do not seem to require stitching, but you will have more scars.”

“I doubt it will matter given the number already there.”

She dabbed a salve on the worst of the cuts before wrapping his torso in thicker bandages. “You’re lucky you heal so well. These might have become infected otherwise. The rough conditions you endured certainly did not help.”

“How did you get the other scars?” Raoul asked.

Erik lifted one brow, though the movement was obscured by the black mask. “I am surprised you would ask, monsieur.”

“I misjudged you in the past. I suppose in a way I am curious as to how you might have been treated for things beyond your control.”

Erik chose to answer, albeit reluctantly. “I spent three years in a cage as a gypsies’ sideshow attraction. Madame Giry told you as much already. Did you think the beating she saw was the only one? There were worse before I learned to offer less resistance.”

“Enough,” the ballet mistress cut in. “Erik, I need to see your face. Your mask?”

He glanced at Raoul. “I can care for it myself.”

“My dear, you mustn’t be so hesitant,” she censored. “The wounds need to be cared for, and I will not let Monsieur le Vicomte see.” She seated herself before him and carefully lifted away the protective covering. 

Erik remained perfectly still as his sister began to wash the cuts. Of all his wounds, the ones on his face gave him the most trouble due to the tenderness in his cheek. He wondered as he had many times what it might have been like to live without the pain he constantly suffered – to live without a mask.

“What happened since you were kidnapped?” Raoul asked after a moment’s silence.

To spare Erik, Madame Giry ran through the tale he had told her, holding his head steady as she worked. The vicomte listened quietly, asking questions only a few times. Erik answered if she could not. When she was done, Madame soaked a thin pad of linen in a diluted salve and placed it against Erik’s cheek, securing it with the black mask. “You won’t be able to wear the white leather for at least a week,” she told him. “Will it be well enough as it is?”

He nodded. “I have gone longer without it.”

“I will leave you to speak with each other,” she murmured, exiting the room.

Erik paced to the window, aware of the vicomte’s presence but unwilling to initiate the conversation. He could sense the other man’s observation. Finally, his patience wore thin and he stalked to a chair, needing to sit before his weakness caused a humiliating collapse. “You wanted to speak with me.”

“A servant could find a shirt for you if you’d like.”

“Yes, yes, that would be much appreciated. Get to the point. You did not want privacy to discuss my apparel.”

Raoul shook his head. “I wanted to talk about Christine.”

“I already said she will sleep for some time and was not harmed too badly while we were captives. Is there something I neglected to mention?” asked Erik stiffly.

“That is not it either. I am not a complete fool,” the vicomte said with faint heat. “I know you heard what I said to Madame Giry as she led me to you that day.”

Erik’s fists clenched. “Do not dismiss your foolishness so easily, boy.”

“But you heard what I said.”

He nodded. “I heard what you said. What of it?”

“What of it?” Raoul repeated. “Does it not interest you? Have you lost your love for her when I just heard you speak of it?”

“I could no sooner stop loving her than I could dance on clouds. You cannot understand what she means to me.” Erik’s eyes fell to the carpet as his mind wandered through the many dreams he had known. “She is my whole world and you had best make her happy.”

“I can’t. Oh, I would certainly try, and we might be content someday… but she would never really be happy.”

Erik’s gaze lifted in consternation. “I do not understand.”

“That is unusual, isn’t it?” the younger man asked. “You have a brilliant mind and you’ve grown accustomed to being the cleverest person wherever you go. But no, this is different. She does not love me. Not as she should. Not as she says.”

“She chose you,” Erik said. “In the end, you were what she wanted.”

“I made her feel safe. I was never what she wanted.”

“She still left, abandoning me to my madness. I think she would have stayed with me if what you say is true.”

Raoul sank into a seat. “If I had not said what I did, she wouldn’t have left. I do not know if even she has the answers.”

“What you said?”

“Say you love him and my life is over. Between the two of us, we made her choice rather impossible. She kissed you.”

“Is this all you wished to discuss? If so, I have no desire to continue.” Erik leapt to his feet, returning to the window. His fingers tightened against the wooden sill. “You are more a fool than you know. Do you have any idea the temptation your words create? All the things you say give hope, hope I cannot harbor. It would be easy to kill you and take Christine for myself.”

“I do not think you would find it as easy as you say,” Raoul said quietly, rising as well. “You would have then if it was. I do not think you would hurt her that way. You love her.”

“I admitted I love her. You need not remind me.” Erik rounded on him. “I may never forgive you for what you have taken from me. She was the one thing I needed while you lived the life of luxury I was never allowed. Do you want to gloat? To laugh that the monster lost?”

“Do you see yourself that way?”

He turned away once more. “Is there anything else to see? I have been called such things for a long time. My own mother could not stand the sight of me. The wounds I suffer physically for my imperfection matter little. It is those to the heart that cause true pain. So few have accepted me as I am.”

“Christine.”

Erik nodded. “Christine. Antoinette and little Giry as well, though they are my true family. I would not be surprised to learn the one I was born to believes me dead. After all, my parents had another son while I lived in a cage. Why should their first child matter when the second was not flawed?”

Raoul sighed. “It will do us no good to speak further now. You must be weary. The housekeeper will have made up a room for you.”

He shook his head. “I will remain with Christine. There is no way to know how long the potion will hold her, and she will need someone when she awakens.”

“A servant might sit with her.”

“No servant would know how to help her. Does my staying with her bother you that much?” Erik asked with exhausted amusement, facing the vicomte. The emotional weight was apparent in his eyes. “I intended to rest in the chair.”

“I suppose it does, to some extent. She will need you though. I will have one of the maids bring clothing for you.”

Erik cared too little to linger, returning to Christine’s chamber as the vicomte dealt with the servants. He moved the massive winged chair to the bedside and closed the curtains before sinking down and taking her hand in his.

“The vicomte is a fool, Angel, tempting me with what I cannot have.”

He permitted himself to stroke her cheek for one blissful second before leaning back and letting himself give in to his exhaustion.

88888888

Christine woke, stretching against the comfortable bed and enjoying the luxury. It had been too long since she last had been able to rest in a true bed. That thought barely crossed her mind when her memory caught up, providing images of the man, the knife in her hand, and the blood. A strange cross between a whimper, a scream, and a sob passed through her lips and she cowered under the covers as tears rolled down her cheeks.

The sound woke Erik more slowly than usual. His body had been drained by their ordeal and was reluctant to awaken, begging for more sleep. His mind, however, recognized the importance and forced him to focus. He realized a moment later Christine was awake and upset.

He cursed the pain that had finally settled and slowed his movements as he went to her side. “Christine.” She turned to him, crying in his lap as a child might. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers. “Tell me what is bothering you.”

“I… killed him…” she managed through heavy tears. “I killed him…”

His lips tightened into a scowl, but he kept it from his tone. “No, you did not.”

“I… did…” Christine wept. “The knife… the blood…”

He would help her when her tears ran dry, knowing she had plenty of reasons to be upset. He let his fingers caress her hair as he held her, reminding her she was not alone. It took nearly an hour, but she began to quiet.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, words uneven and raw. 

“There is no need to apologize,” said Erik in a gentle voice. “You are always free to come to me with your pain.”

“It’s my fault,” she said dully. “He was there and I remembered the knife you gave me. I killed him.”

He shifted so they were lying next to one another, his arms around her in comfort. “Nothing you did was wrong, Christine. You cannot blame yourself for his death.”

“Then who?” she asked. “He would have died from that wound.”

“It was my hand that struck the final blow.”

“But he would have died.”

“Yes,” Erik agreed. “Still, you cannot be blamed for protecting yourself, Christine, and it was not just you that was saved by your actions. He most certainly meant to strike me from behind after getting you out of the way. I would have died if you had not acted as you did.”

“You are trying to convince me what I did was right. It wasn’t. I took a life, Erik. How can I forgive myself for that?” Christine beseeched. “I understand what you said, but I cannot believe it is ever right to kill someone.”

He averted his eyes. “When one kills to save oneself or another, is it wrong? Is it a sin to defend what you care for? Christine, the world is not that simple. There is not just black and white, where something is clearly one or the other. Shades of grey exist. I put a dagger in his heart to spare him a painful death. Was that a crime? Another murder for which I will one day have to answer? Is it a mistake to end the suffering of another?

“Perhaps now is the time for honesty. I told you that I would share everything someday, did I not? I think you are ready now. I only hope you will understand.

“You know to some extent the kind of life I have led. No doubt Antoinette told you the little she knows, that she rescued me from a gypsy show all those years ago. In a way, that is only part of the trials I have faced.

“My parents were young when they reluctantly wed, and I was born just under a year later. I was imperfect, not the son they imagined to be their heir. I rarely saw my father. My mother avoided me as often as possible, and I always wore a mask. Eventually it became too much for a child to bear.”

Christine touched his face gently. “It is sad when others refuse to see beyond the surface. It must have hurt terribly.” Her disquiet seemed to be fading, brushed away by her yearning to finally know the truth about her mysterious angel.

“It did. I was nine when I ran away, taking what little money I had. I soon realized that though I was not happy in my home, I had no experience with which I might survive in the outside world. I began the trek back, thinking a lonely house better than life on the streets, when I ran into a troupe of gypsies.

“Literally, to my misfortune. The impact knocked away my mask. This particular group of gypsies ran a circus of sorts, though freak show might be a more accurate description. They thought I would make them money. I was strong for my age, but I was outnumbered and still far smaller and weaker than my assailants. I was knocked unconscious.

“When I awakened I was in a cage, used as an amusement in their fair, the Devil’s Child. I realized that though they had not yet asked, they would want to know my name, and telling them I was a nobleman’s son would not bode well. I created a false name. They finally deigned to ask two days later. I told them my name was Erik Destler. I have used it since and have never chosen to reveal the name of my birth.”

“Not even to Madame Giry?” Christine asked.

“Not even to Antoinette. No doubt my parents are unaware I live after so long.”

She nodded. “And she rescued you. How long were you trapped?”

“Three years. I was about twelve when Antoinette came to the circus. The man that kept me trapped beat me and tore away the sack I wore in place of a proper mask. I saw sympathy in her eyes rather than fear or amusement, and I could not stay any longer. I strangled my jailor. Antoinette had paused just outside, and she saw it happen. She hid me as the police searched.”

“Why?” Christine demanded. “Why would the police come for you? You defended yourself from a cruel man. What else could you have done!?”

Erik smiled faintly. “I killed him. Yes, I was compelled to do so, but the police would have thought me a heartless murderer for my face alone. I would have been found guilty and hanged. Does this story not speak to you of another?”

“You were a frightened child that had no other way to escape.”

“And what other way did you have?” he pressed. “What choice? To quietly forfeit your life or freedom? To let me and the others suffer? You were given no time to think, only to react. By doing so you saved us. You cannot be blamed for that.”

Her head bowed until the crown was pressed against his chest. “Maybe,” she whispered. “You might be right, but it’s so hard…”

“It was no easier when I first took a life, Christine. Some will say I never paid for my crimes. Yet how did I not? I spent years hiding in the dark with no one but Antoinette to keep me company. I was a boy deprived of a true childhood. I was alone.”

“Then what?” she asked, once more drawn in by the answers she had desired. 

“The child became a man,” Erik explained. “A sad, lonely young man. There was no light in my life, nothing to give me a purpose beyond my music or other gifts. These things were still no comfort because there was no one to share them with. I remained in the darkness of the catacombs as if frozen in time. I had changed one prison for another, though Antoinette would never intend to trap me. She met a man and fell in love. They married, and she left. The only person I had was gone. I could not stay.

“In the depths of night I crept from the Populaire, taking nothing with me. I left Paris and began to travel. I made money selling designs, art, music, whatever garnered interest. A kind mason in Italy taught me his work. After another tragedy there, I used the money I had earned to continue on my way. I went east again, seeking a new place to settle.

“Though I spent some time in Russia, eventually I came to Persia.” He stopped, gazing at her. “Christine, this tale becomes more sorrowful now than ever before. I need to know you really want to hear this or I will resume my story at the time you appeared in my dark world.”

Christine smiled tentatively. “I asked for the truth. I need to hear it all.”

He blew out a breath. “Very well, but know you will not like what you hear. I only hope you do not hate me when it is done.” He sighed before continuing. “Persia. For all the horrors I have seen, the nightmares I have endured, that place has always haunted me. I had gained some wealth by then and my talents came to the attention of the ruler, the Shah. He and his mother had a commission for me, as well as a great deal of interest in my more unusual skills. They wanted me to build a place of torture.”

She tried to stifle her gasp, but his pause made it clear he had heard. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

His eyes closed, but he pushed on. “One does not survive defying the Shah or the Khanum. To spare my miserable life I did as they ordered. In retrospect, I wonder if it would have been best to refuse. I built their hell. They adored my creation, but remained unsatisfied.

“I was in the process of building a palace at Mazenderan at the time. In my wanderings, I had honed the swordplay I had begun as a child, and I took the opportunity to learn of other weapons. I quickly gained immense skill with the Punjab lasso. The Khanum learned of this and wished to see it. I fought them and paid the price. In the end I had little choice but to give in.”

“Erik, no,” she wept against his chest. “You didn’t.”

Erik sighed. “You cannot understand the torture I suffered. The wounds Moreau gave me? Child’s play. My mind and body were pushed to the very brink. There was physical assault. Drugs. I was nearly dead when I gave in. Somehow, my intelligence survived. I pretended to heed their orders as I began to work quietly against them. I had to serve as their assassin, however. Nothing would have been accomplished save my death if I had not.”

“What did you do?” she whispered, afraid of the answer.

“I took the orders and went to that man’s home once I had regained my strength through a friend’s care. I refused, however, to be a coward. He would be given a fair chance. I woke him and we moved to his front room to speak while his family slumbered. 

“I spoke to him frankly, explaining that the Khanum wanted him dead and that I had been sent to see it done. He was frightened and moved to attack, but I stopped him. I had to ask what it would accomplish except to send more vindictive assassins after him, and his family as well. I gave a choice. A quick, painless death, a chance to stand against them, or to run, with the risks each option carried. 

“He spoke of the gamble I took with my own life by doing so. I could only say there was nothing left for me to lose, so I would try to help others. I didn’t want to kill his wife or daughter. I did not want any deaths, but I would not make the decision for him.

“Then why offer to kill him, he demanded. Why would I be willing to take his life if I did not wish to? I had no answer. Though religion had failed me in my youth, my heart rebelled against cold-blooded murder. It took a long time for me to find a response. I had already killed, I finally said. I would not burden a soul with that darkness when mine was already tarnished.

“He chose to forfeit his life in order to save his family in the end. I killed him painlessly and quietly, in a way that would leave his family grief rather than guilt. They never knew his death was any more than the natural way of things.

“This continued. There were rare occurrences when the target would choose to reject my offer. I would try to allow them to escape, but I was limited in my actions by the Shah’s constant attentions. I was trapped.”

“You have done nothing to deserve it, but you always seem to be bound in darkness by those things you could not control. Why?”

“I do not know,” Erik answered. “Perhaps it is simply the hand Fate dealt. Perhaps the sin of my face will haunt me for eternity. I cannot guess the reasons of the universe’s workings despite my many efforts. Shall I continue or would you rather I move on?”

She shook her head. “Continue.”

“The time came when I could do nothing. I knew too much, and the Shah feared others would lure me away and get me to tell them what I learned. I was to be killed.” She whimpered and he caressed her hair. “Clearly I was not. I spoke before of the friend that returned me to health when I was freed of the Khanum’s torture. He saved me again. Nadir was the Daroga of Mazenderan – the chief of police. He let me go and made it seem that I had died. The ruse held long enough to get out of the country. He was discovered in the end, but he was spared harsh punishment for his long years of service. 

“He was imprisoned as I fled, retracing steps I had taken years before to return to Paris and the Populaire. I arrived at a felicitous time. The opera house was to be redone. I contacted the architect responsible for the job and offered my designs for his use. I was paid handsomely and used that time of disarray to construct my home below. I had no further desire to wander the world beyond. Perhaps the Populaire was a prison to me, but it was at least one I had chosen for myself where I was spared torture and humiliation. When it was done I retreated below, ready to remain for the rest of my years.”

“Did you ever wish for something else?” she asked.

“Always,” he replied. “I yearned for the beautiful things I had seen in my travels, before darkness once again clouded my world. For the first time in my life, I had seen love, kindness, and the finer qualities humanity possesses and yet never extends to me. I wanted them for myself, but I had grown weary of torment. Solitude was kinder. 

“One can only imagine my surprise when a man came. Monsieur Lefevre had heard rumors of odd sounds beneath the Populaire and wished to know the cause. My first instinct was to protect myself and the haven I had created, but his words caught my attention.

“He claimed he meant me no harm. Antoinette had told him of my existence as she left, but I had been gone when he looked. The rumors led him to suspect my return, so he came to see if I required anything. With time I relaxed and allowed him to see what I had built. He admired my work and offered me a position. 

“When the new managers took over the opera house they disdained paying my salary as blackmail, but it never was. Lefevre paid me for music, sets, costume work, stage instructions, whatever useful things I could produce. I was also charged to watch over the Populaire’s people, to protect them if need be. 

“My shock was compounded when Antoinette appeared not long after, small child in tow. She came to me at once. Her husband had died, leaving her and the then-infant Meg alone. She had returned to her family while she grieved but Lefevre contacted her with an offer of the ballet mistress’ post. I never told her of my excursion beyond the Populaire’s walls. 

“A few months later, she brought you. It had never been my intention to involve myself with you. The first day you heard me I was distracted and had thought myself alone, but when you asked if I was your promised angel I could not bear to say no.

“And you of course were a part the story from there,” he finished. “You now know the sum of my life’s horrors and tragedies. Do I frighten you now? Does the blood on my hands upset you?”

Christine couldn’t think of a response for a long while, and each passing second unnerved Erik further. His fear that she would reject him completely once learning of his past burned painfully against his heart. 

“What about Monsieur Buquet and Signor Piangi?” she finally asked.

“I have regretted all deaths by my hand but two. Javert, the gypsy who tormented me those many years, is obvious. The second was Buquet’s. Perhaps you were unaware, sheltered as you were by the combined efforts of Antoinette and myself, but Joseph Buquet was a horrid man. You must have heard him speaking of me. After our work brought you to the stage, he began to watch you more than before. I had caught him assaulting women of the opera previously. When he was both pursuing me and beginning to plan his attack on you, I could not take that risk.”

She nodded, seeming to accept his reason. “Piangi?”

“The result of madness,” Erik sighed. “I was so driven by my desperate obsession that all else had ceased to matter. It had not been my wish to kill him, but he struggled and though I was stronger I feared the commotion would be overheard. Before sense could intervene, I killed him. And now I am afraid you will never trust me again.”

“I trust you,” she whispered, but his keen ears caught his words. 

“Really?” he asked gently. “You do not just pity me?”

Christine shook her head. “I understand. It’s not your fault, any of it. You were trying to protect people. I’m sorry for not remembering your kindness.” She pressed her face into his shoulder and he felt a few teardrops touch his bare skin. “I am so sorry.”

A soft smile soothed the harshness from his features and he rubbed gentle circles against her back. “I know. I understand. Don’t you see, Christine? You do not blame me for the things I did to protect others. Why must you blame yourself?”

“I will try not to,” she said quietly. “I just don’t know how.”

“Sleep. There are still some hours until supper. You have much to recover from.” He began to move, but she clutched his hand with hers.

“Stay. Please stay. Don’t leave me alone.”

“You are engaged.” The words tore at his soul. 

She shook her head. “I need you. You understand. Please, Erik!”

His eyes closed in resignation and he relaxed once more into the mattress. “I find this unfair. You use my love for you to gain your desires. Very well. You shall have your wish as always, Christine.”

Christine murmured something, but even his sharp senses couldn’t register the faint words. When he didn’t reply, she repeated them. “I do not want to use your love. I’m sorry. You can leave if you want to.”

“Don’t apologize,” Erik soothed. “You are just distressed and exhausted.”

“Erik?”

“Yes?”

“There’s something… There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Then do so.”

“I… I can’t,” she realized. “I can’t be with you while Raoul and I are engaged.”

He struggled against laughter. “Indeed so. It would be most unfair.” His heart was lighter than it had ever been before. The vicomte had been right. She loved him. The joy of it was overwhelming.

He could not help the convulsions that shook his chest though, and after about a minute it occurred to her what she had said. “I… Oh, no!” 

The laugh in his throat broke free and his chuckles filled the room. It occurred to both how rarely he laughed. The sound possessed as much beauty as his singing voice. “Perhaps the boy has more sense than I had thought. Tell me, Christine. Please.”

Christine stared hard at the bandages around his chest, blushing profusely. “I should not have said anything.”

“But you did. Do not deny me the few small joys I have. Tell me.”

She sighed. “I love you. Perhaps I always loved you. I am just sorry for how long it took me to realize and how I hurt you.”

His embrace tightened. “You do not know how long I have wished to hear those words. I have been so lonely without you at my side. I love you as well, Christine, though you know this.”

“What do I do?” she moaned. “I said I would marry Raoul.”

Erik’s eyes flashed at the thought, but he suppressed his anger. “You need only break the engagement if you no longer wish to wed him.”

“Is it that easy?” she asked. “Can I destroy him as I destroyed you?”

A knock sounded and Erik forced himself to sit up. “What is it?”

“May I come in?” Raoul asked, voice muffled by the door.

Erik shifted to the chair, glancing at Christine. She nodded. “You may.”

The heavy door swung open and the vicomte stood framed in the opening. “I hope I am not disturbing either of you.”

“Come in,” Christine said with a faint smile. 

Raoul threw a wad of fabric at Erik. “A fresh shirt. I thought a maid might have created some difficulty if you had removed your mask. How are you, Christine?”

She considered her breakdown. “…Tired. Very tired.”

“Yes, I imagine you had a difficult time,” the young man said as he rested his hip against a nearby table. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.”

Erik pulled the shirt over his head. It was too large, but he hardly cared. He didn’t bother to lace it. “Is Antoinette available?”

“Madame Giry is in the lounge at the end of the hall,” the vicomte informed him. “She said you might want her help again.”

Erik strode out without another word, leaving the couple to stare at each other uneasily. Eventually Christine broke the silence.

“You must have been very worried.”

“Indeed,” Raoul replied. “I am most grateful to Erik for rescuing you.”

They had not really spoken since she had been kidnapped except for a brief conversation in Erik’s home while she barely said a word. So much had changed.

Finally Raoul met her eyes. “You love him.”

“How did you know?” Christine whispered, though she had suspected as much.

“When you were kidnapped, I was forced to confront the truth I had known all along.” A faint smile creased his boyish features. “Everyone knew but you. I only hoped you would come to love me as you do him.”

“I do love you, Raoul…”

“But as a brother,” he finished. “Or an old friend. Not a lover. Not a husband. You needn’t worry over our engagement. I understand where your heart truly lies.”

He went to the door, but her voice stopped him. “I am so sorry.”

He faced her again. “Don’t be. In the end, you were always meant to love him.”

“I should not have allowed you to think otherwise.”

“I wished, Christine. That you would be able to forget about him. It is clear you never could. He needs you,” Raoul finished. “He needs your love more than I do.”

“Thank you,” Christine said gently as he opened the door. “For understanding, for being strong enough to let go despite how it must hurt, thank you so much.”

“Just… be happy.” 

88888888

Erik winced as Madame Giry loosened the bandages. “You should have taken more care while sleeping,” she scolded. 

“I was with Christine,” he explained through gritted teeth as the tender scabs tore. 

“Of course. You always are. Surely there was a bed available, but no, you had to remain with her. While I applaud your dedication, you should consider your own health now and again.”

Erik’s eyes leveled with hers. “Was I to leave her alone when she woke, knowing how upset she would be?”

Antoinette frowned. “You are not the only one that might have seen to Christine’s needs. Meg would have stayed with her if you had only asked.”

“She needed me,” he replied simply. 

The ballet mistress paused and considered his expression with a keen eye. “You seem to be in higher spirits than usual this afternoon. Would you care to explain?” He only shook his head with a smile. Madame Giry continued with the task. “It appears,” she said, “the comte and comtesse will be arriving later this evening.”

“Will they?” Erik asked after a moment’s pause. “The boy must be pleased. I cannot imagine the joy of having one’s parents come to call.”

She glanced at him. “Your parents were never there, were they? You speak of your past so rarely. You have never even given your true name.”

“The name means nothing to me, the child that carried it even less. Erik Destler is my name now. I do not wish to remember a past that contained only pain.”

She sighed. “You are a very stubborn man. Keep your secrets; you always have. Still, I wonder at your uneasiness at the vicomte’s parents visiting.”

“On the contrary, I have no interest in the matter.”

The ballet mistress merely arched one brow as she began caring for his hands. “Most might believe you, but I do not. I have known you for a long time, Erik, and I saw worry in your eyes when I spoke of them. What, I wonder, would be the cause of that?”

“There is no worry,” he argued. “I merely question the reception I might receive.”

She still didn’t believe him but held her tongue. “If you say so. How is Christine?”

“Coping,” he answered. “She wept for some time.”

“We both did everything in our power to keep her safe,” Antoinette observed. “She was more protected than any other in the opera. No doubt her kind heart is having a difficult time accepting that man’s death.”

He nodded. “In the end I told her the truth of my own life, even things I have never shared with you. She seemed to understand when it was done.”

She eyed him critically. “If there are things you thought needed to be kept even from me, I am surprised you decided to share at all. Tell me.”

“I do not like to speak of it.”

“Doubtless. No details, then. Just tell me where you were while I was away from the Populaire.”

“You knew?” he questioned with a faint smile. 

“Of course I knew. Did you think Monsieur Lefevre would not tell me that you had vanished for all those years? He was very surprised by your reappearance.”

“Very well,” he consented. “I travelled after you left. Italy for a while, Russia, then Persia. I suffered a great deal there and returned to Paris during the opera’s renovation.”

“You told Christine the complete story?”

“I did. She seemed to take it well. While we were trapped with Moreau I promised her that I would tell her the truth.”

“I am surprised,” she said quietly.

His eyes closed. “What do you want, Antoinette? Apologies? I can hardly bear to think of my past. Those years nearly tore me apart. Telling Christine was a monumental task. If you want me to tell you… I will if you insist. I would prefer not to. It is simpler to consider my life as beginning the day you saved me, and that Persia does not exist. The Populaire is the only place in which I have known peace. You have done a great deal for me and if you ask it I would give you the truth, however painful it may be.”

Madame Giry smiled. “That admission is enough. I simply feared your trust in me has faded, my dear, yet since we came here you have already said things I am sure you would not typically have spoken of. I suspected for many years you were of noble birth, and the things you said support that idea. Is it true?”

“It is,” he admitted reluctantly. “It hardly matters. I doubt my family knows I am alive.”

The vicomte stepped in. “How are your wounds?” he asked.

“They are healing well,” Madame Giry told both men. “You needn’t fret, Erik; they will be gone soon enough. How is the pain?”

“Tolerable.”

Her lips quirked. “I will assume quite high, then. You would never admit to its existence otherwise. Have you considered taking one of your concoctions to ease it?”

Erik glared at her. “I said it was tolerable.”

“If you’ll admit that much, you are in far more pain than you say. Take something.”

He continued to glare before sighing. “Very well. I shall soon. Monsieur le Vicomte has some matters he wishes to discuss with me first.”

Raoul started slightly. “How did you…?”

“You are not the most subtle of men. If you had nothing to discuss you would not be lingering. Is there anything else, Antoinette?”

Madame Giry shook her head. “No, I have done what I can. I will expect to look over your wounds again tomorrow.” She exited the room, pulling her daughter away as she did. 

Erik watched until their footsteps had faded. “What is it now?”

“I spoke with Christine.”

“I am aware,” he drawled. 

“We broke our engagement,” Raoul said. “I am no longer standing between you.”

“I imagined such would be the case, given what I learned from her and the things you stated before. Is there anything else, or will I be permitted to rest?”

The vicomte began to say something else but stopped himself. “It’s not important right now. Christine is awaiting your return. I will send Meg to awaken you come supper, though if you would care for a small bite now I can have a servant get something for you.”

“I cannot speak for Christine, but I am not hungry. However,” and the words tore at his pride, but he wanted to be polite for her sake, “thank you for the offer.”

“Send word if either of you require anything,” Raoul said as Erik moved to the door.

“I shall.” He felt he needed to accept that at least in consideration of his injuries.

88888888

The following morning, Raoul rapped gently on the door to his father’s study. The comte and comtesse had arrived after the others had retired for the night, and his father’s valet had appeared in his bedchamber with an early summons. 

“Come in,” the comte called. 

The vicomte stepped into the room and gazed at his father, seated behind a massive desk of ornately carved mahogany. His mother was still abed. The comtesse hated travel and would rest several hours longer than usual after. “Good morning, Father.”

“Good morning, lad!” his father greeted. The resemblance between the two was apparent in their faces, though the comte was more portly than his son and his black hair had turned grey years before. Standing they would have been the same height. “It has been more than a year since you returned home. Is something bothering you?”

“As patron of the Populaire, there was business to attend to,” Raoul answered.

One of his father’s brows arched. “Living in Rouen does not bar your mother and I from news. The opera house has been closed for months.”

He inclined his head. “I have been overseeing its purchase from the current owners while attending to some personal matters.”

“Such as your fiancée’s kidnapping?”

“I did not realize you were aware.”

“That is why we decided to come,” the comte explained. “Though we expected to find you at the townhouse. What brings you to the estate this time of year? You never cared for country living in the winter.”

Raoul proceeded to outline in barest terms the events that had brought him to the manor, omitting mention of Erik’s involvement. He had some questions of his own he needed to ask before he drew attention to the other man. 

Both the vicomte and his father sat back for several moments upon the completion of the tale. “Tell me about my brother,” Raoul said without warning.

His father eyed him warily. “You do not often ask such things. Indeed, it has been many years since you have cared to mention him at all.”

“It has been on my mind. Did you ever learn what happened?”

“You know after your brother vanished your mother and I assumed he had died.”

“I want to learn more about him,” the vicomte said. “Not just what happened to him, but about him. There must be things you can say of your first son.”

The comte sighed. “I did not know your brother well, and that is one of my greatest failures. I believed men had no place in the raising of children and paid him little heed. He and your mother had difficulties as well, so he was raised by his nurses. I imagine he was lonely. It has been so long that I cannot even picture him clearly.”

“What would have happened to make things difficult between him and Maman?”

His father shook his head. “The memory still plagues your mother, so it is best not to speak of it. Suffice it to say something happened that she could not forgive herself for and she pushed him away because of her guilt.”

“Do you know anything else about him? How old was he when he disappeared?”

“He was nine,” the older man recalled with a faint smile. “Oh, there was never a time your brother and I were close, but he was a precocious child. His tutors reported he was at once brilliant and headstrong. He also discovered a strong affinity for music.”

“Music?”

“Yes, it appeared that though he never received instruction he was very gifted with a piano. There were many times I heard the most beautifully haunting music, but no one seemed to know who was responsible. I found him playing not long… before.”

“Do you know why he disappeared?” Raoul pressed.

His father shook his head. “We never knew for sure, but the police suspected he had run away. For years I hoped he would return, but it has been so long I cannot believe he even lives.”

“What was his name?”

“Goodness,” the comte said, startled. “Have we never even told you your brother’s name? I am sorry, Raoul. His name was Erik.”

Raoul’s head spun. “How can that be?”

“My boy, whatever is the matter!?”

“I think… my brother really is alive… and I know him.”

“If you had questions regarding my identity,” Erik said from the entry, “you might have asked me directly rather than seek the information elsewhere.”

“Would you have answered?”

“Perhaps.” His gaze flew to the older man. “Monsieur le Comte,” he said, inclining his head. He turned once more to Raoul. “I would not have lied, at the very least, though I may have been disinclined to respond.”

“How much of that conversation did you listen to?” the comte demanded irately. “It is most rude of you to eavesdrop, especially when I assume you are a guest of my son’s.”

“I beg your pardon then, monsieur. I could not help overhearing. It was clear he was speaking of me. Indeed, I believe I heard most everything that was said.”

“Is it true?” Raoul asked. “Are you really…?”

“It is strange that you would ask when you are still unsure. It must have occurred to you that your father did not mention your brother being deformed, which he no doubt would know should what you suspect be true,” Erik drawled.

“It is wrong to speak ill of the dead,” the comte said, though suspicion and curiosity began to show in his eyes. “How did you know my first son was disfigured? Raoul, who is this?”

“His name is Erik. Erik Destler,” the younger man answered shakily. 

Erik bowed. “I have also been known as the Phantom of the Opera and many other unkind epithets besides. No doubt you are familiar with the Phantom.”

“Indeed,” the older man said. “There are not many in all of France who have not heard whispers of the dreaded Opera Ghost that haunted the Populaire.”

“Was my brother deformed?” Raoul demanded. 

“…Yes,” the comte replied, frowning. “A tragic accident marred his right cheek.”

“Then it is true,” the vicomte whispered as what little color he had drained from his face. “Yet how can it be?”

“I knew your brother,” Erik said coldly. “He died a day after he ran away, trapped in a gypsy’s freak show.”

The comte studied Erik, worry in his old eyes. “You knew my boy? How?”

“You don’t see?” Raoul asked faintly. “He is my brother. I know the tale from Madame Giry. Erik was caught at nine and trapped in a gypsy circus for three years. He changed his name the first day. Madame never knew who he was. How did it take me so long to see it?”

“Erik de Chagny died that day. No one has ever been aware of him since.”

The comte rose. “You… My son? I thought you were dead.”

“I have heard your tale. I know you did not realize I survived. For more than twenty years I have not admitted to the truth, but I see the time has come. I was Erik de Chagny those many years ago. Is that what you wished to know?”

“Raoul, leave,” their father ordered.

“What?” he protested. “No.”

“Raoul, there are many things I wish to discuss with your brother. You have had a chance to know him. I have not.”

The vicomte left, though not without a constant muttered stream of protests. Erik watched his progress until the study door closed behind him. 

“Are you really my son?” the comte asked.

“I stated my name. Was that insufficient?”

“I just find it hard to believe that after so many years you have returned.”

“Not of my own volition, I assure you. Necessity drove me here. I had no desire to return, nor to acknowledge a past I buried long ago.”

“You would have let us believe you were dead forever?” the comte demanded.

“I never pretended to be dead except to say that boy I used to be died, which is true. The assumption was your own. Why should I have said otherwise?”

“As your father, I have a right to answers.”

“Perhaps,” Erik acknowledged, “if I considered you my father. To my mind I have no parents because to theirs they had no child. If I am wrong, feel free to tell me, but I have no other explanation for the neglect I suffered.”

“It was never my intent to neglect you,” his father said in a sad tone that betrayed his years. “I was young and believed children were to be raised by women. That has long been my greatest regret.”

“Then there may be an accord between us in time. That does not excuse the action, and I will not forget. You have twice this morning said things I do not understand, and I will have an explanation.”

“And what was not clear?”

“First,” Erik drawled, “you said Madame la Comtesse did something she had never forgiven herself for and she avoided me because of it. Second, you said my face was the result of an accident. To the best of my knowledge, I was born this way.”

“No,” the comte said, shaking his head. “You were not. Indeed, to my eyes, you were absolutely perfect when you were born.”

“What changed?” The comte hesitated, but the look in Erik’s eye was clear enough. “I have spent years unknowing. I deserve the truth.”

“Very well,” he consented. “Your mother and I were… very young when we were wed. She was horrified to become pregnant so soon. It was difficult for her, and she was bedridden for months. You were a large and strong babe. She was long in recovering. 

“For the first three months of your life you were in the care of your nurse, as your mother was ill and I was frequently gone on business. One day I returned from such a trip to find the household in an uproar. Your mother had finally been able to leave her bed, but she was distraught. She had taken you from your nurse.”

“She intended my death.” 

“Maybe. She had somehow acquired a strong acid she poured over your face. Your nurse happened to enter the room in time to stop her from going further, doing everything she could to help you, but the damage was done. The worst of it was under your right eye, and it never healed.”

Unthinking, Erik’s hand rose to the distortion. “You are saying the woman who birthed me is the reason I have suffered all these years. It was an action of one who should have loved me most that trapped me in a freak show. The entirety of my suffering can be laid at her feet.”

“Erik, I can explain,” the comte began, but his son had heard enough.

“You might want to make excuses for her,” he said angrily, “but I have no wish to hear them. Do you still wonder why I left? Why was it, do you think, I felt I had no place here? I did not have the answers then, but now I do and I find them not at all to my taste. If circumstances did not dictate that I must remain here, I would be gone within the hour. However, I am, for the time being, trapped. Do not take this to mean there will be forgiveness.”

He was at the door when the Comte spoke again. “Whether you wish it or not, you are here and will be expected to behave as any other guest. Your mother has already given orders that a meal be prepared for everyone this evening. You will be expected to attend.”

Erik’s eyes were cold as ice and just as sharp. “There will be no forgiveness for this worst of transgressions.”

He stalked from the room, desiring only the comfort of Christine’s presence. 

88888888

The vicomte rapped on the open door as the dinner hour approached, Meg just behind him. “Is everyone ready?”

“It seems so,” Christine replied as she got to her feet. 

Antoinette finished re-bandaging the wounds on his back before she allowed Erik to pull on his shirt and add his vest and coat. Madame assisted him with the cravat when it defeated his aching hands. “Indeed. Let us get this torture over with.”

“Do you want your gloves?” Christine asked. 

“No, thank you. I fear the gloves and my sore fingers would quickly put an end to any attempts to use a knife.”

They filed out, joining Meg and Raoul at the door. Raoul held Erik back for a moment. “You do not have to go if you are not feeling well.”

“Your father told you what occurred after you left.”

The vicomte nodded. “I am sorry I brought this up. I did not wish you harm.”

“The truth was going to become apparent with time. No doubt one or both of your parents would have realized the similarities. You merely hastened matters.” He shook his head. “I am well enough to attend. I must simply avoid any unpleasant scenes.”

“You are certain?” Raoul pressed. “I told Father you are wounded and must rest. Your absence would be easily explained away.”

“I already said I will go,” Erik said impatiently. “I would like to have this finished. Spare me your guilt. I have problems enough of my own.”

“Father told Mother,” the vicomte added in a hurry. “She knows who you are now. You do not have to face her yet if you are not prepared.”

Erik faced the younger man with some irritation. “I realize we have things between us that must be rectified, but do not attempt to make amends by interfering in what I do. I have made my decision already.”

“Very well,” Raoul agreed. “I hope for your sake this does not go too badly.”

The meal was silent after a round of introductions and a few moments’ talking among the ladies. Christine and Meg had been enthusiastic until they got a sense of the tension between the others. When Christine laid her hand on Erik’s arm, she could feel how on edge he was.

“Angel, whatever is the matter?” she asked softly as the servants began to set out the third course. “Are you feeling unwell? Do your wounds hurt?”

“You need not worry. I am fine.”

She began to say something else but seemed to reconsider. “If you say so.”

The comte and comtesse both looked at Erik every few moments. Raoul kept his eyes on his plate. Meg and Christine exchanged concerned looks. Erik seemed to pay no heed to the actions of the others. 

A lovely apple tarte tatin was being served as the dessert course when the silence finally broke. The comtesse glanced at Erik and spoke. “Are you… really who they say?”

His expression was blank. “You already know who I am.”

Meg mouthed ‘who?’ at Christine, who could do nothing more than shake her head. 

“Please…” the comtesse continued. “Can you not just answer me? I would like to hear you confirm what I’ve been told.”

Erik was abruptly standing, hands planted on the table. “I was once a boy named Erik de Chagny. Is that enough, or would you prefer the grisly details be shared right now?”

Tears formed in the corners of the comtesse’s blue eyes. “Erik, please, I know you must be angry with me…”

“Angry?” he repeated. “I have long passed angry. I am furious. You want to know if I am your son. To that I answer with a denial. I am not your son because I do not have a mother. You cannot be my mother because no woman worthy of that title would have acted as you did.”

He stormed out. Christine hurriedly excused herself and rushed after him.

88888888

“Erik!” Christine called. “Angel, please!”

She lifted her skirts and followed as he exited the mansion and moved into the gardens. A few of the men guarding the building tailed them. Some length in, he paused without warning. She reached his side to find a pistol in his hand.

“Erik, what…?”

“Quiet,” he ordered. His eyes took in the surroundings with a focus on the dark trees marking the edge of the wood they had escaped Moreau and his lackeys through. “There is someone nearby.”

“What is it?” she asked. “Moreau?”

“Perhaps. I thought I had seen a man in the trees.”

He began to walk away as his gun seemed to vanish, but she took his hand. “Please, tell me what is wrong.”

“There is nothing wrong. Certainly, revelations of the most dismal sort regarding one’s past are mere trifles.”

“I don’t understand,” Christine whispered. 

“My mother,” he sneered, “is the reason I have suffered all these long years. By her fair hand I was cursed. Damned for all time by the foolhardy act of a woman who should have known better. The woman that birthed me marked me for all to see.”

“By marked, you mean…?”

“My face?” he drawled. “Yes. It seems it was my mother’s hand that destroyed me. I had always believed I was born this way.”

Her hand lifted to touch the mask above his scars. “You are not cursed, Erik. Surely you cannot still believe it to be true?”

“No?” he snapped, twisting away. “I am a monster. What else would attempt to kill its own brother? What else would be so repulsive its own mother hated it and sought to be rid of it?”

Christine moved in front of him once more and snatched the mask away. With a curse, he pushed her as his hand moved to hide his face. She stumbled and fell, and something changed in Erik’s eyes. He knelt by her side.

“Christine,” he breathed, “I am so sorry.”

She shook her head. “I am all right.”

“Then why do I see fear in your eyes?” he asked as he lifted her to her feet. 

Slowly, Christine’s hands framed his face. Her thumb traced the contours of his scarred cheek. “I do not fear for myself, Erik. I am afraid for you.” She pressed a gentle kiss against the distorted skin. “Will you allow your demons to overcome you once more? I am afraid if they do I will not be able to reach you again. You fought for so long to be free. Do not let this terrible revelation destroy all you worked for.”

“It is already destroyed. I ruined what little chance I had with my brother, though I have not forgotten the pain there. My home… I destroyed that as well.”

“Your brother?”

“Monsieur le Vicomte,” he said as he turned away, “is my brother. There is so much you cannot understand.”

“Then explain it to me! I want to help you, but there is nothing I can do if you will not confide in me,” said Christine. “I have never seen you quite so lost.”

Erik snorted derisively. “Of course you have. I tied Monsieur le Vicomte to my portcullis and threatened to kill him as I demanded your love.”

“Angel, look at me.”

His gaze returned to her face with reluctance. “I am looking at you.”

“Then why can you not see?” she asked. “I don’t think of you as a monster. I’m the one who drove you to such extremes. If there is to be guilt, it is mine.”

“I was crazed and ruined everything in my path. You cannot be blamed for that.”

Her fingers caressed his cheeks. “You are an angel sent to guide me. That anger, that madness? It was not you. Do not think you’ll be bound forever by the darkness that created such unsettled times. Let me help. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He sighed. “As always, I can deny you nothing. I find I do not know how to begin.”

“You are Raoul’s brother.”

Erik gave a tired nod. “Yes, though I did not know of his existence until you told me. At the time I cared little. However, when he came to the Populaire… I was not glad to see him. I did not embrace the chance to know my brother. I was afraid he would develop an interest in you.”

“Was that so terrible?”

“Christine,” he sighed, “I have always been deprived of the things I desired. Here was my brother with everything life denied me. I had no wish to see him take the only precious thing I had left. You were all I had and it was quite clear he wanted you too.”

“And then?” she prodded. 

“I did what I vowed I would not. I revealed myself to you that night hoping that you would care more for my attentions than his. Initially you seemed to be truly mine, but the next morning… Do you see now why I could do nothing but resent him? I knew I should at least attempt to reach him, but all I could see was that I was losing you to him and I could not bear it.”

“I am with you now. Can you not attempt to set things right?” Christine asked. “Can you try to repair the damage?”

He stiffened. “Perhaps with my father. I might even be able to make peace with my brother with time. My mother…”

“Your mother,” she interjected, “made a mistake. The past cannot be undone, but the future has yet to unfold. Do you want to forfeit your chance for a real family?”

“You are my family. You, Antoinette and Meg are all the family I need.”

“You cannot say you do not want to know them. Raoul is a good man.”

“I do not like him,” Erik said simply.

“And he does not like you,” she countered, “but he is willing to make amends. You have what you desired. Can you not find a way to be brothers in more than blood?”

“Is that what you wish?” He turned, facing the gibbous moon.

“Whether I wish it or not has little bearing. Would you deprive your family of our children, or keep our children from knowing them?”

“Children?” he repeated, facing her. 

“God willing, yes. You always knew I wanted a family. Why would that change? I want to have your children someday.”

He laughed softly. “We have not even discussed marriage and you speak of children. I had not considered them, in truth. I still find it hard to believe you would choose me.”

A faint smile quirked her lips. “Did you not intend to marry me? I had assumed, given the lovely gown you made.”

“I have wanted nothing more in all my years, but I need you to be absolutely sure. I cannot change what I am, Christine. I am not a good man. I am not my sainted brother.”

“Raoul is no saint,” she disagreed without anger. “He is just a man, and you are a good man. You have done some terrible things, yes, but you were driven to them and have repented.”

“Does repenting wash away the blood that stains me? Will it allow me to forget the deaths I have caused?”

“Some things are not meant to be forgotten.” She took his hand in hers. “Let us return to our chamber. There is no need for further unhappiness tonight.”

Erik allowed Christine to lead him back into the mansion.

88888888

In the deepest shadows, eyes watched. Once the couple vanished into the house and the guards returned to their posts, men stepped forward. One wore ruined remains of an aristocrat’s fine garments. 

Moreau glared at them. “How did they reach this place? They should have been found before this.”

“It seems the Opera Ghost sensed the approach of the nearest party of hunters,” one of his servants reported. “He and the other man fought them, as did the young blonde. All men were rendered unconscious and bound save one.”

“What of that one?”

The servant winced. “Emil suffered a wound to the stomach. It would have proved fatal, but it seems one of the targets was merciful.”

“We cannot hope to reach them here,” another observed. “Acting against the comte would be madness. The other man is his son.”

“They are both his sons,” Moreau snapped. “Didn’t you listen? The Phantom of the Opera is the son of the Comte de Chagny as well. We have already come against him.”

“You hold a higher rank. Can you not win in any battles with him?”

“Perhaps,” the marquis said, staring at the large manor. “They are many and I am one. There is also proof in Erik’s wounds and their testimonies.”

“The man is a criminal. No court would take his word.”

“A title changes everything.” Their eyes never left the well-lit home.

88888888

“You play beautifully.”

Despite the fact that he had been enjoying the solitude as he played the piano and composed, he did his best to not resent the vicomte’s presence. Betraying no hint of surprise, Erik turned enough to see his brother in the doorway. “Thank you.”

“Christine told me,” Raoul continued as he moved into the room, “and I saw your organ, but I never imagined this.”

“I discovered my skill with this piano and continued with the one in Rouen. Later I found the organ to be my preference, but I have not forgotten my beginnings.”

The younger man perched on the window seat. “That is how you knew the manor so well. I wondered at the time, but there were more pressing issues.”

Erik inclined his head in response before organizing sheets of newly written notes. “In my exhaustion I did not take care with my words as I normally would have.”

Silence reigned for several beats as Raoul watched his elder brother with an amazement he had never before felt for his one-time rival. “I doubt we will ever forget what happened, but I would like to at least to know you. You are my brother, after all.”

“A fact I yearn to forget,” Erik said dryly. “I will not disregard the pain you have caused, but Christine said she would have me attempt to right the wrongs done.” He faced the ivory keys. “I may never forgive you for trying to steal her away. You, who already received all I had ever wished for, desired the one thing I held dear. It was terrible.” 

“It is strange to imagine you once stood in my place as my parents’ child.”

“I was never in your place. You are the golden son; you were given whatever you wished for. I was denied even the warmth of their embrace. You hold the title that is mine by right of birth. In many ways, your life is what mine should have been. Instead I have suffered more than you in your insulated world could ever imagine.”

Raoul recognized the truth in his words. “I cannot begin to understand the depths of your suffering. I don’t understand your choice to hide beneath the opera, nor can I relate to your difficulties with our parents. I was a spoiled boy until my encounter with you taught me to appreciate what I had.”

“I am most glad to be of service,” Erik said mockingly. “By all means, inform me if I might be of further assistance.”

“I did not mean to speak of those dark days lightly,” the vicomte said by way of apology, “but it is true. In many ways I was still a child. Yes, you have suffered, but you understand things far beyond my grasp.”

“Do not wish to know those things. That knowledge is a darkness which never ends and is not worth the suffering it brings.” 

“Don’t you want to know your family?” Raoul asked. “I suppose in some ways I resent that you are Christine’s choice, but I am willing to set the past aside to forge a stronger future.”

“I have no family.”

“You already admitted to being my brother. We are family.”

“Family whom you hate and would once have been glad to see dead.”

He began playing again. Raoul shook his head and waited, knowing there were still things to be said. Erik ignored him for a half hour before his hands came down against the keys, creating a jarring discord.

“What,” he snarled, “are you still doing here? I do not want company. Leave me.”

“It is not as simple as that.”

“Unless there is business to discuss, I have nothing to say to you,” Erik said. 

“We could at least be civil,” the vicomte suggested. “We will be forced to remain in close quarters for some time.”

It galled Erik to admit it, but the boy had a point. “…Very well,” he agreed. “That I can do. Now, may I have some peace? I want to work.”

Raoul had sense enough to bow out before Erik’s temper flared, and he absented himself from the room. Erik turned to the piano and lost himself in the music again.

88888888

The winter passed with relative peace. Erik remained civil with the vicomte though at times it grated their nerves. With his father there was some progress, but he was not willing to bend where his mother was concerned. He spent a great deal of time avoiding her. He often left the room when she entered, the sole exception being the evening meals. 

Madame Giry and Meg were the first to leave the estate, returning to Paris with Erik’s plans for the Populaire a month after they reunited. The ballet mistress was to oversee the renovations as Meg began the search for promising performers. Erik said those he had freed from Moreau were particularly welcome. He also sent word to Giles, telling him to send his sister to the Populaire. He promised to keep the girl safe and see to her training. Christine wanted to be in Paris as well, but Erik was inflexible in the matter. She was to remain in the safety of the de Chagny estate until the opera was ready, upon which she would join him and the Girys there. 

He left on a few occasions, but only for short periods on unspecified errands. At least one was to his home beneath the Populaire, since he had returned with a portion of his wardrobe. He also retrieved a few of his white masks. It had been nearly three weeks before his face healed enough to accept the inflexible leather. Christine saw him wince on occasion even as spring drew near. Worried, she pressed him to see a doctor. He brushed her words aside with assurances it was not serious.

Finally the Populaire was completed, and a de Chagny carriage took Christine and Erik to its newly repaired grandeur. Meg and Madame Giry stood together in the entry to greet them. 

“Welcome home, my dears,” Madame Giry said. She and her daughter threw open the doors. Christine gasped. 

The fire might never have happened. The lobby shone with polished marble and gilded statues adorned the alcoves. Orpheus and the Muses ringed the spacious room. Great vases of red roses rested to either side of the broad staircase. With a flourish and a smile, Erik offered her one of his. She blushed as she accepted the gift. 

The afternoon was spent touring the building. The dormitories had been redone for comfort as well as practicality, and larger rooms were available to house those of higher position should they so desire. The backstage area had been redesigned to increase its efficiency, and Christine spotted sets ready for the first production

“I can hardly believe this is real,” she murmured. 

“You like it?” Erik asked. 

“It’s amazing. How did you manage it?”

He just laughed. “There is still one thing to see,” he informed her. 

“What?” she wondered as he led her to the upper stories of the building. Madame Giry and Meg vanished below with a reminder that auditions would begin the following morning. 

“You’ll see.”

Pausing a moment, Erik covered her eyes with one hand and took hers in his other. He guided her up another flight of stairs and nudged a door open with his foot. Once they were in the room, he pulled his hand away. Christine turned, shock and adoration evident on her face.

“This is beautiful. What is it?”

“Our home,” he admitted behind her. “I planned to use this design for a house on the beach, but I thought it would be more suitable here.”

Christine caught a glimpse of a bed carved in the shape of a phoenix beyond a doorway. “Did you bring that from your house on the lake?”

Erik looked that way as well. “No. This one was carved by the workmen.”

She entered the room and caressed its head. “It’s beautiful, but it seems larger.”

“It is. I hoped we would share this bed once we were wed.”

Christine spun to face him and saw a glittering ring in his hand. “Are you…?”

Erik knelt. “Christine Daaé, I have loved you for so long. You have accepted me to an extent I had not considered possible save in my most secret of dreams, but it is not yet enough. Will you do me the greatest of honors and agree to marry me?”

Tears poured down her cheeks, but she was barely aware of their existence. Her eyes were locked on him and the ring he offered. It was a delicate band of gold, the center done in filigree with clusters of tiny sapphires to either side of a flawless diamond. She touched it with cautious fingers. “I… Yes! Of course I will marry you!”

He reverently placed the ring on her finger and kissed it before leaping to his feet and pulling her closer until she was pressed against him, her head under his chin. He bent a little and placed a warm, soft kiss against her lips. 

“You cannot believe how happy you made me, Angel,” he murmured as he rested his uncovered cheek against her hair. 

“No happier than you made me,” she assured him as she gazed at the beautiful ring now gracing her finger.

88888888

It was Christine’s wish to visit the nearby church the following morning as Erik tended to the auditions. He disagreed. “Moreau is probably aware we have returned to the city,” he argued. “You would be risking capture.”

“No one would harm a woman in a church. Erik, I have not attended a service since he first took me. It has been so long since I have confessed or heard Mass.”

“Then we will attend Mass on Sunday. I do not want you to go alone.”

Christine sighed. “I only want to go to the church. The city is quite busy; how could he possibly see me?”

The argument continued in a similar vein until Erik acquiesced. “As always, you shall have your way. Still, you must be back within two hours. Should something go wrong, take sanctuary there and I will come for you.”

“Thank you,” she said with a sweet smile. “I am glad you understand.”

“I’m not sure that I do,” he answered. “I should give you an escort.”

Christine shook her head. “Erik, please. I enjoy your company and that of our friends, but there are times I want solitude. Surely you can accept that.”

He did, reluctantly. “Go, before I change my mind,” he said. “Christine… Be careful.”

“I shall.” The young woman seized the opportunity and moved to the door, already prepared. “I hope the auditions go well,” she called as she slipped out.

Erik watched her go as he shook his head. “It would be a miracle if they did.”

88888888

Christine passed through the crowded streets without trouble. There was a touch of winter’s chill in the air, so she eased her scarf over her head to guard against the wind. With that and her dark cloak, she was not easily distinguished from any others. 

The church was not far, nor was it a grand place. It was quiet and modest, and did not see many visitors except for Mass. She always enjoyed that, reveled in the comfort of its open space after the cramped rooms of the opera. It was true she frequented the chapel there, but this place was solely for her to face God. She knelt at the altar, sending her prayers to the heavens. The priest watched before touching her shoulder.

“Mademoiselle Daaé?” he asked.

She turned to meet his eyes. “Father Benoît.”

“Good heavens, child, I am glad to see you are well,” the old man sighed. “I heard of your kidnapping and feared you would be lost.”

“I am well, I assure you. I was rescued. Twice, to be honest.”

“Twice? Dear child, tell me everything. I see you wear a different ring.”

The priest led her to his small office and offered her a seat and a drink of water. She accepted both. The old man moved to stand before the window. 

“By all means, Christine, tell me. I am most curious.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said. “I hoped to speak with you, but I didn’t wish to impose.”

“It is no imposition. I have known you from a babe, my child, and I have been very worried for your sake.”

The entire story poured out – her dissatisfaction with her engagement to Raoul, her kidnapping, being rescued by Erik, and everything that had befallen them. She hesitated to speak of Erik’s past, but in the end she deemed it best both their sakes. It took almost an hour, but by the end she had revealed all she knew. She laughed and cried, and the old priest joined her on a few occasions. Once it was done, Father Benoît sat back and considered the tale. 

“Father,” she said, “I want you to marry Erik and I, should I convince him to agree. I hope you do not judge him too harshly.”

The old man eyed her sternly. “He carries many sins, dear child. Do you think yourself safe with such a man?”

Christine did not hesitate, speaking with the utmost conviction. “Erik would never hurt me. Father Benoît, he has suffered. Would you condemn him for trying to protect himself? Can he be blamed for taking lives when they consented, sparing them a more painful end?”

“As true as that may be, there is a heavy penance for the taking of another’s life.”

“He languished alone for so many years, shunned even by those who should have loved him. He has been tortured for his face. Does the Church not understand it was the acts of men that drove him to this?”

He smiled – just a little, but it gave Christine hope. “You defend him passionately. Have you forgiven his trespasses against you?”

“I harmed him so much more than he did me. I understand why he acted as he did when I did not give him what he deserved. I would have saved us all so much trouble had I understood my own heart.”

“Dear child, I could see you did not love the vicomte as you claimed. I had not realized, however, that your affections had fallen to such a man.”

“He is a good man,” she protested. “He might not seem like it, but he is very kind if he is given a chance. Father, he has done everything for me. He gave me my dream and saved me when all seemed lost. It is true he should not have pretended to be an angel, but I understand. He thought he would be safe if I never knew him as a man.”

Silence fell once more as the priest considered. At last he sighed. “You have a gift for words, Christine. I will consider performing your marriage.” Christine began to thank him, but he raised his hands. “I will not do so blindly. I want to speak with your fiancé. If I do not judge him safe, if he does not show remorse, I shall refuse.”

“Erik has shunned religion, Father. He suffered so long he believes God has forsaken him. I do not know if he would come,” she explained. 

“Then you have to convince him, child. I know you want a wedding in the sanctity of the Church. He cannot give you that if he will not enter.”

Christine bowed her head in acceptance. “I will ask, but I can do no more. Even if you deny my request, I will marry him. I cannot abandon him again. I’m sorry.” With that she stepped from the room, ready to return to her love.

888888888

Erik watched from the shadows as those auditioning gathered in the opera’s lobby. Some had worked there before, and others he recognized from Moreau’s collection. He also spotted a redhead who seemed familiar. It took a moment to realize it was Clarisse, the performer who had led him to Christine when he first rescued her. 

Madame Giry moved to his side as she surveyed those who had come. “There are many who will be shocked.”

“Perhaps. If they desire employment, they will learn to cope. I think we should start with the chorus and ballet. The others will be done later.”

“Have you spoken with Monsieur Reyer yet?” 

“No. I arranged to meet with him tomorrow before those wishing to join the orchestra arrive. Should he be willing to return, things will be much simpler,” Erik said. He sighed. “It is time to begin. Make sure Meg is at the doors.”

Erik descended the stairs, and several people took a few steps back. He was pleased, however, that there was no mass panic. Most milled uncertainly, not knowing what to think of the mysterious man in the mask. After all, those few times he had appeared had been carefully contrived to conceal his identity. Had he worn Don Juan’s black or the skull of the Red Death, he thought they would already be gone. He paused partway down and spoke to the crowd.

“Welcome, mesdames and messieurs, to the Opera Populaire. My name…” Here Erik paused before sighing. As much as he hated to admit it, his birth name would give him an air of legitimacy he lacked. “My name is Erik de Chagny, and I am the new owner of the opera house.” Whispers rippled through the room, though no one dared to speak out. He pressed on. “For the purposes of privacy, I ask that I not be addressed as such. For matters regarding the Populaire I will be referred to as Monsieur Destler.”

More whispers spread and a few began to back away again. Erik glanced to his adoptive sister, who stepped forward with a list in hand. “The auditions will begin with those interested in positions within the chorus or ballet,” Madame Giry explained. “Those seeking auditions for major roles must wait.”

Many of the performers settled at the familiar sight of the dance mistress, and those girls who had previously been members of the corps de ballet stepped forward. Erik glanced to Madame Giry. The older woman nodded and directed everyone to the stage, informing those auditioning where to find practice dancewear. 

The matter of the ballet was settled in short order. The chorus took little time as well, though there were a number of incidents when those seeking places were denied and fought his decision. It was the auditions for more important roles that proved trying, particularly when La Carlotta put in an appearance. 

“Where is this new manager!?” Erik heard her shout in her shrill voice. He could not help wincing. One of the workmen tried to head her off, but she pushed him aside and charged into the theatre. Erik vanished into the shadows near the edge of the stage.

He pitied Madame Giry as the presumptuous diva rounded on her. The ballet mistress frowned. “Signora Giudicelli, the manager has already selected a soprano to act as the headliner. There is nothing to discuss.”

“Who is it?” she demanded. “I will have words with this little upstart! I am the diva of the Opera Populaire!”

“Christine Daaé was chosen.”

“Christine Daaé!?” the redhead hissed. “That little toad!?”

Erik couldn’t resist. “A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is you that are the toad.”

The range of expressions that crossed her face was amusing. Rage, shock, understanding, apprehension, fear, and uncertainty each had their moment. “You!”

His head tilted to one side. “Yes?”

“You – you… You monster!” she spluttered. “How can you be manager?”

“Monster?” he repeated. “You jest, Signora. I am merely a man. As for my position, I not only manage the Populaire, I am the patron and owner as well. You are not welcome here.”

La Carlotta lifted her head, arrogance clear. “You cannot deny me an audition.”

He smiled, but there was a wolfish glint in his eyes. “Why, yes, you will find I can. Good day, Signora Giudicelli. Do not darken my door again.” He called a few of men. “See her out.”

She went, but not without throwing a number of curses and threats in his direction. He ignored them and began wondering where Christine was instead.

88888888

Christine enjoyed the gentle sunlight and lack of a chaperone for the first time since she and Erik had escaped Moreau. A street market was doing good business as she passed through, and she lingered at a number of stalls to examine their goods. She purchased a few late winter strawberries at one, thinking they would be a wonderful treat for her and Erik to share.

She continued on her path, not noticing that several men had begun to surround her. Eventually she caught on and paused. “May I help you?” she asked politely.

It was then she realized she had not pulled her scarf up after leaving the church, which meant she would have been easy to identify. She began to look for a way to slip free of the trap she had stepped into. A hand settled on her arm as another man broke through and began to pull her away, tugging the scarf into place as he did. A second stepped up and stared at the first before taking her other hand and hurrying her along. 

Christine could hear the others pursuing them, so she did not question the men with her, allowing them to lead her through the crowds. She hoped they wouldn’t draw too much attention. Once they reached the Populaire, they raced up the steps and into the safety of the lobby. 

One of her rescuers, the one that first pulled her away, pushed back his hood. 

“Monsieur Giles!” she gasped. 

He bowed. “I am glad I was in time, Mademoiselle. I feared I would be too late.”

Christine shook her head. “No, thankfully. Were they…?”

“They were Moreau’s,” he said, mouth set in a grim line. “He intended to capture you as you left the opera house, but you vanished into the crowd too quickly for him to have a chance. I hoped he would not see you as you returned.”

Erik must have been summoned by one of the workers, since he strode into the lobby as Giles’ words left his mouth. “Christine?”

She flew into his comforting embrace, burying her face in his chest. His arms came up around her. “Oh, Erik!”

“What happened?” he pressed, glancing at the men. “Monsieur Giles?”

“Monsieur Erik.”

Erik’s expression turned grim and his grip on his fiancée tightened protectively. “Moreau tried to take her away again. I shouldn’t have let her leave.”

The other man offered a faint smile. “You cannot keep her here forever.”

“I suppose not. Thank you for saving her. You did, yes?”

Giles nodded. “I was almost too late, but we managed. And this gentleman assisted me in bringing her back here.”

“And you are?” the masked man asked.

The second revealed his face. “It’s nice to see you doing so well, old friend.”

“Daroga!?”

“Daroga?” Christine repeated, curious. “Who…?”

The dark-skinned man bowed. “Nadir Khan, Miss Daaé. It’s nice to meet you.”

“My friend from Persia,” Erik explained. “He was the one who helped me escape. What brings you here, Daroga?”

“I received word of the scandal last year but could not come before now. It seems I arrived at a good time; I recognized Miss Daaé and knew she would be safest if we brought her back.” The Daroga paused and evaluated the place. “I see the décor has changed. I imagine a great many things have if you walk here openly now.”

Erik shook his head. “A long story. You will stay, will you not? And you, Giles? There must be news.” Both men agreed, and his attention returned to his fiancée. “You should return to our suite and rest. I must speak with Monsieur Giles and the Daroga.”

She ascended the steps as the men watched. Erik sighed before facing the others. “Come, tell me everything that happened.” He led them to a quiet practice room and they each took a seat. Erik’s fingers tapped with ill-concealed worry as he waited. 

Giles began. “First, I should inform you Moreau has been stripped of his title. It seems his family finally caught wind of his misdeeds and thought it best he be removed before the crimes stained all of them. A distant cousin has assumed the position.”

“I am glad,” Erik said. “His title gave him power and protection I did not have the means to fight. Now we are on a more equal level and I will deal with him as necessary.”

“Have you gone to the police?” Nadir asked.

“Not as of yet. Christine and I just returned to Paris yesterday. I intended to do so once things settled. 

“You should,” Giles frowned. “He has not given up his pursuit of you. While he is free you remain in grave danger.”

The once Phantom sighed. “I understand. I will go to the inspector handling the case as soon as my appointments tomorrow are done.” His eyes fell on the small covered basket Nadir held. “What is that?”

He glanced at it as well. “I have no idea. Miss Daaé had it when I crossed her path.”

“Strawberries,” Giles said. “Enough for two. She purchased them on her way back.”

A smile graced Erik’s features. “She is too good for one such as I.”

The Daroga shook his head. “My friend, after the things you have suffered I believe you of all men deserve such a woman. She must love you a great deal.”

“She does indeed, and there is nothing that brings me greater joy.” He paused. “I just proposed last night. We are to be married.”

The Persian bounced to his feet, displaying a youthful vigor at odds with his age. “Then congratulations are in order. I wish you every happiness.”

“Happiness may be difficult to attain while Moreau is loose,” Giles warned. Erik nodded. 

After a few more minutes, he rose. “Excuse me, gentlemen. There are still auditions to see to this afternoon. If you speak with the staff, they will direct you to our flat. You can stay there if you have no other place to be, and I will find you something permanent when I’m done.”

“We would not want to disturb your lady,” Nadir responded. 

Erik shook his head. “I doubt she is actually sleeping. She is probably reading on the sofa or something of that nature.”

“I have no argument,” Giles said. “You have already seen to my sister’s safety. I only lingered with Moreau as long as I did to ensure a helping hand should it prove necessary.”

“And I thank you for it,” Erik said. 

88888888

The erstwhile Phantom breathed a sigh of relief as the last auditions ended. Clarisse had done so well that he selected her to act as Christine’s understudy. All that remained was to issue instructions before he would be free to retire. The performers took seats as he stood on stage. 

“First, there are rules to be established,” he said. “There will be no drinking here. Those that do not heed me will soon find they need a new employer.” There was uneasy muttering, but no one immediately left. He considered it a good sign and glanced at his sister, who smiled in agreement. “Rooms have been set in order for those that prefer to live here. If you wish to make such arrangements, speak with Madame Giry.” His gaze swept those assembled. “I expect you to heed my orders well if you wish to remain. I will not tolerate any instances of abuse of my staff. Those that do so will find themselves facing the police. Your rank is not important. Even the stars will lose their positions should I find their conduct unsatisfactory. This theatre cannot operate smoothly if there is dissent between members.

“Finally, there are some personal rules to state. I am neither patient nor tolerant of foolish behavior. Do not trouble me with pettiness. I do not permit any questions about my mask. I will allow you privacy in such things and expect the same in return. Are there any questions? If so, now is the time to ask.”

One of the dancers got to her feet, speaking even as she trembled in fear. “Monsieur…. Are you… Well… Are you the Opera Ghost?”

Murmurs swept the room once more. Erik resisted the urge to scowl. “Yes, I was.”

The whispers seemed to rise to a fever pitch, and a few half-rose to flee before Madame Giry stepped forward. “Settle down.”

Erik nodded. “For those of you familiar with past incidents, there will be no such any longer. This is now my opera house, eliminating the need to resort to trickery. I expect hard work and loyalty, but it will be rewarded.”

Clarisse pulled herself onto the stage and faced the cast. “Monsieur Destler rescued me and several others from the clutches of a madman. He is not as terrible as stories say.”

A rare smile of appreciation crossed his face as the murmurs became confused. With time, the theatre grew quiet with wary acceptance. He waited a beat to be sure.

“That shall be all for now. Good day.”

88888888

Christine suggested Erik join her at the church, but he hardly heard as he considered the meetings he had to see to. He hoped to lure Monsieur Reyer back to the Populaire, after which were the auditions for the orchestra. That burden at least would be eased by the presence of the conductor. When that was done he had to visit the police inspector about Moreau. 

He discussed it with Christine, and they agreed she would remain at the Populaire while he spoke to the police. However, she had offered to join him when he spoke to Monsieur Reyer about returning to his old post.

“He knows me,” she observed. “I will set him more at ease.”

Erik watched her from across his desk. “Do you mean to say that I would intimidate the man?” Christine lifted one shoulder in response. He laughed. “It would do no good to antagonize him. Still, you must have things to do you would prefer to meetings?”

She shook her head. “Nothing until we are ready to begin rehearsals. If you are not with me, I am quite bored.”

He rose and draped his arms around her shoulders. “Never let it be said I defied your wishes. If you are not opposed, I would be glad to have you join us. You are the star, after all.”

“Only because of you.”

There was a gentle knocking on the oak doors leading to Erik’s grand office. He stepped away with some reluctance. “Come in.”

Madame Giry slipped in. “Erik, Monsieur Reyer is in the lobby. Shall I send him up, or would you like more time?”

He shook his head. “Well… He is rather early. Our meeting was not until this afternoon. Still, I have nothing planned right now. By all means, show him in.”

The ballet mistress exited. Erik looked at Christine. He knew by society’s standards her apparel, a ballerina’s practice outfit, was inappropriate, but it made no difference to him. While he was gone she was to be assisting Madame Giry with the dancers. He wore one of his many black suits, white mask firmly in place, but had for the time being discarded his cloak. 

Monsieur Reyer stepped in and extended one hand. “Isaac Reyer at your service.”

Erik shook it. “Erik de Chagny at yours, though I use the surname Destler for business. I am sure you remember Miss Daaé.”

Monsieur Reyer bowed. “Mademoiselle, a pleasure as always.”

She nodded. “I am very happy to see you again, monsieur.”

Pleasantries concluded, the conductor faced the Populaire’s new master. “De Chagny, you say? You are related to the vicomte?”

“The Vicomte de Chagny is my younger brother, though we were sadly estranged for many years.” Christine almost choked. “I only recently reunited with my family. The Populaire was a gift from Raoul.”

“By estranged, are you referring to the… incident during your opera?”

Christine and Erik froze. “I am surprised you deduced my identity so quickly, Monsieur Reyer,” Erik said after a brief pause. “I expected a certain degree of suspicion, but you seem most confident you are correct.”

“I am a musician, monsieur. I recognized your voice.”

Erik shook his head, chuckling. “Well done, then. Yes, I was the man known as the Phantom of the Opera.”

“And you wish for me to be in your employ. What sort of motivation might I expect if I were to refuse?” Monsieur Reyer asked. 

“I do not intend to threaten or force you to resume your position,” the masked man said mildly. “The decision is yours, though I assure you there will be a generous salary.”

“Should I agree, would there be issues with falling scenery or chandeliers?” 

“Of course not,” Christine answered. “Those things occurred when the previous owners did not heed his warnings. There is no need for such accidents since Erik is now the manager.”

“I take it you are to be the lead soprano, mademoiselle?”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “It is what I have always wanted. Unless you do not think me capable of doing so?”

Monsieur Reyer frowned. “That is not my opinion. You are undeniably gifted. I only question the reason you gained such a position.”

Erik growled. “If you are making aspersions against Christine’s character…”

“Settle yourself, Monsieur Destler. Your reaction was answer enough. I have faith she will be a splendid leading lady. Now, there are some conditions before I consider your offer.”

“And what would they be?” Erik asked as he forced back his temper. 

“I do not wish for La Carlotta to be involved in this theatre.”

Erik threw back his head and laughed. “I had her escorted out yesterday. I would not permit her any role, rest assured. I had rather thought my opinions of her quite clear.”

“I want to select the musicians myself. If I accept this position, I need full control.”

The once Phantom nodded. “I can accept that, though I hope I will be permitted to assist. I know many instruments.”

“I will remember that. Those are my conditions,” Monsieur Reyer said. “If you agree, I will return to the Populaire.”

“We are of a similar mind in this. Welcome back, monsieur.”

“Will you be so kind as to tell me when to expect auditions to begin, Monsieur Destler?” 

“Those seeking a place should begin arriving within the hour. Many will have been employed here before. Monsieur, I suggest selecting the most skilled you might possibly find. We have little time,” Erik finished.

“Oh? When do you intend to begin?”

“I expect to be ready in one month.”

“One month!?” the conductor gasped. “You seek a miracle! The musicians can be ready in that time, but I do not think the others are capable of the same.”

Erik smiled. “It will not be as difficult as you think. Many actors have worked here previously, and the leads already know their parts.”

“I realize Miss Daaé may be prepared, but who is to sing the tenor? What is the opera?”

“The opera is to be my own Don Juan Triumphant, and I am to sing the Don.”

Monsieur Reyer gaped as Christine led him from the office.

88888888

Since the meeting and auditions had ended early, Erik chose to proceed to the police station at once. Summoning a carriage from the opera stables, he ordered the driver there and settled into its dark interior. The drive was brief and he was soon stepping through the doors of the station. He paused at the desk and requested the inspector responsible for the case. The officer told him it would be a few minutes. Erik leaned against the wall to wait.

Ten minutes after his arrival, the inspector stepped from his office and beckoned him forward. “Inspector Simon Arceneau. You are?”

“Erik Destler. I’m here regarding the Christine Daaé kidnapping.”

The older man arched one brow. “Are you now? Very well. Join me in my office.”

Erik followed, noting the inspector was twice his age and dressed in a civilian’s simple grey suit. His hair was salt and pepper, and he was five centimeters shorter than Erik himself. The office he was led to was little more than a whitewashed box with two chairs and a desk. A small window offered mild relief to the claustrophobia the room induced. Inspector Arceneau gestured to a seat, which Erik accepted without a word.

“Monsieur Destler, was it?” the inspector said. “How can I help you?”

“Vicomte de Chagny already reported Miss Daaé was rescued and later retaken?”

“With another man, yes, though he was scarce on detail. An Antoinette Giry claims to have been witness.”

“Antoinette is my adoptive sister. She was indeed there.”

Inspector Arceneau seated himself behind the desk. “Her account was most convincing. She said you were kidnapped as well. I assume you escaped?”

“Do not take me for a fool. Monsieur le Vicomte informed you Christine and I managed to free ourselves months ago. I am here to allow whatever questions you wish to ask in order to apprehend our abductor.”

“I have some questions, certainly, but most are not in regards to your kidnapping,” the inspector said. “Did you know I worked in Rouen twenty years ago?”

“No,” Erik answered. “I fail to see the relevance.”

“Tell me your name. The real one this time. I know you are not Erik Destler, boy. Not by birth.” The masked man’s lips tightened. “De Chagny. You are Erik de Chagny.”

His hands fisted. “You know nothing about me. If you refuse to assist in the matter of our kidnapping, I will find someone who will.”

“I did not say I would not aid you,” the inspector said mildly. “You are very angry to hear the name you were born to. Why is that?”

“If you know that name,” Erik growled, “you should be aware of why I might not like to hear it. It has been said too many times in recent months already. I would thank you not to press the matter, Inspector.”

“Is your family aware you are alive?”

“What concern is it of yours?” he demanded.

The inspector met his eyes. “I worked in Rouen. A few days after you disappeared, your father approached me and asked I look for you. Oh, it took a long time before I had even a hint of where you might be. Three months after you vanished I found a young woman who said she had seen you.

“She was pregnant then. When I found her she had a newborn. She told me a curious little boy in a mask had a run-in with some gypsies. In her condition she could do nothing to aid him, though she wished she could. It was then I began to suspect you had survived, but your mother came to me and asked no word be given without certainty. I never told them. To this day they must still believe you dead.”

“The comte and comtesse have seen me. Does that answer your question, or must we continue in so unpleasant a vein?” Erik said stiffly. 

Arceneau shook his head. “No doubt they were able to discern the truth of your identity. However, were you aware I was the inspector assigned to the mystery of the Opera Ghost? Imagine my surprise when the vicomte came to me about a man who had once been trapped by gypsies. I refused to give him men to hunt the Phantom, suspecting the ghost might in fact have been his brother.”

“To business? If you do not mind?” Erik snapped.

“Yes, yes. Madame Giry says you and Mademoiselle Daaé were kidnapped by the Marquis Jean-Laurent Moreau. Is that correct?”

With immense effort, the once Phantom forced back his temper. “Yes, though he is no longer titled. It seems his family disowned him.”

“Oh? I hadn’t heard. Tell me what you can, then.”

88888888

Erik had never been fond of police stations, and he hurried from this one as fast as he could without running. He all but leapt into his carriage and barked an order to return to the Populaire. Once there, he strode to the stage. Christine was there with Meg and Madame Giry, speaking with the ballerinas.

“Christine,” he called.

She turned. “Erik! Just a few moments. I will join you in your office.”

“No need to hurry.”

Erik was grateful for the solitude of his office, slumping in his chair and dropping his head to his arms. True to her word, Christine joined him moments later.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asked, perching against the edge of his desk and caressing his hair. “Did the police give you trouble?”

He sighed and shook his head. “It is not important. They have increased the search for Moreau, but the inspector warns we must remain vigilant.”

“Something is troubling you,” she observed. 

He stood and engulfed her in his embrace. “Now that I am with you it does not matter.”

Christine accepted his reply without further questions. “What can we do about Moreau?”

“Continue as we have, I suppose. You know I do not like to trap you, but we cannot risk Moreau stealing you again. I understand you want time on your own. I am unused to constant companionship myself. Once this is over, I will take you away for a while. To Italy, perhaps. Or Sweden. There would be no one but us.”

Her arms encircled his neck. “It sounds wonderful, Erik. This cannot last forever, can it?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. Now, you mentioned the church this morning. Did you forget something while you were there?”

“No,” she replied. “The priest wants to speak with you.”

He tensed under her hands. “And why might that be?”

Christine hesitated. “I asked him to perform our marriage, but he said he wouldn’t unless he is satisfied I am safe. I spoke,” she winced, “of your past. I needed to.”

“Is this your desire?” he sighed.

“It is.”

“Christine, I have already suffered far more inquiries into my past than I care for these last few months. Must I be subjected to another for a God that abandoned me long ago?”

“You know I always wanted to marry in a church, Erik. Father Benoît only means to be sure you have repented. I do not think he will pry much.”

Erik touched his bare cheek to her hair. “If this is so important to you, so be it. I am weary of others for now, though. Tomorrow will be better.”

“If you prefer. I’m done for today. How shall we pass the evening?”

“Would you sing for me?” Erik asked.

“Would you play for me?” she countered with a smile.

“Of course,” he answered with a faint grin of his own. 

“Then I shall enjoy singing for you, my strange Angel.”

88888888

Rehearsals started the next day, but Erik was convinced he and Christine would not be needed. Madame Giry was capable of managing in his absence. He hailed Nadir and Giles.

“Christine wants me to accompany her to the church this morning,” he explained. “Due to the situation at hand, I cannot risk a chance of our driver being attacked and substituted with another. Can you act as our escort?”

Giles nodded, as did the Daroga. “Whatever you need,” the Persian assured him. “When do you wish to leave?”

“Christine should be ready soon. The carriage has already been prepared.”

“I can check,” Giles decided. He exited the lobby for the stables behind the building.

“Erik?” Christine called from the landing above. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. And you?”

The young soprano hurried down the steps. “I think so. Shall we go? Are we to walk?”

Erik shook his head. “The Daroga and Monsieur Giles are escorting us in the carriage.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

He smiled. “Do not fret so, Christine. I know you wish for time to yourself, and a chance to enjoy the sunshine, but Moreau knows of that church. If we were to walk we would be in danger. If it eases your mind, feel free to act in whatever way you wish while we are there. I will not follow.”

She slowly returned the gesture. “I suppose you are right, as always. At least I will be able to pray.”

He brushed his hand against her dark hair. “I am sorry I must restrict you so.”

“I know. Do not let it worry you; I’ll be fine.”

Erik offered her his arm. “Shall we go? I have business to see to this afternoon.”

Christine blushed a little. “I apologize for dragging you away.”

Erik stayed back as Christine entered the church. He had not chosen to enter a place of worship for many years, save the chapel in the Populaire, and that had been for her. To lessen his discomfort, he watched as she began her prayers. An elderly priest spoke to her for a moment before joining him.

“Monsieur… I beg your pardon; I do not know how to address you. Is it Monsieur Destler or de Chagny?”

Erik met his eye. “Destler by preference, but choose the one you think best.”

“I wonder, monsieur, which name you intend to give Mademoiselle Daaé.” The priest realized he had not introduced himself. “My apologies. I am Father Benoît.”

The masked man inclined his head slightly. “A pleasure, I am sure, though it has been many years since I conversed with a member of the clergy.”

“Indeed. I imagine you do not care to discuss your past in so public a venue. Would you prefer to speak in my office?”

Erik surveyed the sanctuary. “I want to keep Christine in sight if that is no trouble.”

“She is free to join us.”

He shook his head. “She is forced to endure a great deal of constant company. I do not wish to impose on her now. There are few enough people. If we do not raise our voices I would suggest we take a seat in the pews.”

The two men settled near the back of the church, though Erik’s eyes remained trained on his fiancée. The elder watched for a moment before speaking. “Christine has said a great deal about you over the years, though never as much as she did a few days ago.”

“She told me as much.”

“Do you love her, monsieur?”

The inquiry was surprisingly direct, and Erik’s gaze left Christine to take in the old man at his side. “I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if you loved her,” the priest repeated. “It cannot be a difficult question.”

“No, though it was rather abrupt,” Erik muttered. “Yes, I love her. I have loved her for a long time and will never cease. Is that what you wished to know?”

“It is a beginning,” Father Benoît said. “Christine led me to believe you regret your sins.”

“Many of the things I have done that the Church would name sinful were not actions I wished to pursue. I do not enjoy taking lives and do so only to spare myself or others.”

“You would not hurt her?”

“Monsieur, Christine already told you these things. Do you think her so gullible that she would believe me if I were to lie?” Erik drawled. 

“Christine has believed your mistruths before, or have you forgotten?”

The masked man tipped back his head and stared at the vaulted ceiling. “I had not had contact with the world for five years when she appeared. One day, I was singing. I did not realize Christine was near. When she asked if I was the angel her father promised… I could not find it in me to deny her the comfort she craved.”

Father Benoît did not speak for some time, watching as Erik looked to Christine once again. It was the look in his eyes that spoke volumes. Erik was a reserved man, but when he saw Christine there was such gentleness… Such love… The priest sighed.

“I cannot deny you seem devoted to her. I will not argue against your marriage. Speak a date and I will be at your disposal.”

“Such matters are Christine’s to choose,” Erik said. “She has long dreamt of her wedding, and I want her to have it however she wishes.”

“May I be permitted to ask you something?” Father Benoît asked.

“It rather depends on the nature of your request.” 

“May I be permitted to see your face?” Erik tensed, and the priest hastened to elaborate. “You need not fear it will distress me. I have worked with victims of war and have seen many shocking injuries. I suffer terrible curiosity, I am afraid.”

“I should think not,” the once Phantom answered stiffly. “Though this church is less than crowded, I do not wish to cause a riot.”

“Erik?” Christine said as she joined them. “What is bothering you?”

“It is my fault, child,” the priest told her. “I asked too much.”

The soprano’s eyes moved between the men, realizing the older man’s gaze was trained on the white leather of Erik’s mask. “I see.”

Erik closed his eyes for a moment before getting to his feet. “We should return to the Populaire if there is nothing else to be said.”

“Father Benoît, have you agreed?” the young diva pressed. 

“I have indeed,” said the old priest. “If you will contact me with the details, I will be happy to officiate at your marriage.”

“Thank you!” she beamed, embracing him. “Oh, I am so pleased.”

“I am glad,” Erik said, expression softening at the joy in hers. 

“We should return,” Christine realized. “There is much to be done in the Populaire. We have so little time!”

Noting the priest’s confusion, Erik elaborated. “The opera house is to reopen in a month’s time. It will be close, but we shall be ready.”

“I am sure you will do splendidly. Might I have a quick word with Christine before you leave?” Erik nodded and Father Benoît led her a short ways away. “What do you know of Monsieur Destler’s physical condition, dear girl?”

Christine frowned. “I know he was wounded while we were trapped, but the injuries healed. To my knowledge he is in good health.”

“He is in a great deal of pain, Christine. You should convince him to visit a physician before it grows any worse.”

88888888

Christine watched Erik during the return trip. He waited, knowing she would give voice to what worried her when she was ready. Even as they reached the steps of the opera house, Christine held her tongue. Through the Populaire, nothing still. It was not until they reached their flat that she did.

“Are you all right?” she asked finally.

Erik paused, unsure. “I am quite well. You’re the one who seems distressed.”

“I’m worried about you,” Christine admitted in a low voice. “Before we left… Father Benoît says you are in pain, Erik. Is he right?”

Her quiet words caught him off guard and he was forced to decide if it was best to lie or remain honest. For the moment he chose silence and watched her with uncertainty in his eyes.

“He was right,” she said miserably. “Did your wounds not heal properly?”

“They healed as well as could be expected given the circumstances,” he responded. “There are scars, but nothing too serious.”

“Then what is it?”

Again his silence revealed more than his words might have. He could see she had begun to reach a new conclusion, one he expected would be correct. “My face is not as painless as I would like,” admitted Erik with considerable reluctance. “Since… Well. Those cuts aggravated an already painful injury. The mask no longer soothes the ache.”

“See a doctor,” Christine urged. “A good physician would be able to help.”

Erik shook his head. “There is nothing to be done.”

“At least they could give you something for the pain,” she pressed. “Medicine is improving so quickly. There must be something.”

“There is not,” he said coldly. “I have wished as much for many years, but I have already done what little there is. To seek a physician would waste my time. There is a great deal that must be done here.”

For a moment Christine wavered, but she crossed her arms and frowned. In another situation, dressed as she was in a demure green gown and far smaller than he, he might have found the sight amusing. Now he wondered if he had been a bad influence on the once timid woman. She had not dared to defy him so openly before, not to his face. 

“No, it is not a waste,” she argued mulishly. “Even if you will not do it for your sake, do it for mine. I do not like knowing you are in pain if there’s even the slightest chance something could help.”

“I said no.” 

Her doe brown eyes narrowed in consideration. “You must.”

“And why must I?” he asked, exasperated. 

“Because if you will not, I will not sing.”

88888888

They argued after that. Erik did not appreciate being blackmailed. Christine held fast. He left in frustration, seeking out his sister for advice.

“See a doctor,” Madame Giry said.

He frowned. “I said it is pointless.”

Antoinette sighed. “I know what you said, Erik. I also know Christine can be as stubborn as you. She wants to be sure. Would it really be so terrible?”

“I do not care to reveal my face,” Erik said. “I am sure you know why.”

“Physicians see countless injuries in their work. They might react poorly at first, but they would understand and be willing to help.” 

“It does not change the truth of the matter. There is nothing that can be done.”

Madame Giry shook her head. “There has been word recently of a new doctor from England that does well with facial injuries. Perhaps he could assist you.”

He considered. “Is this man discreet?”

“I have heard good things, and his patients say he has a gift.”

“Very well,” Erik said after a lengthy deliberation. “Make the appointment for me, or I could very well change my mind.”

Madame Giry nodded and hurried out of the room, calling for Meg to accompany her. Erik went upstairs to tell Christine he was doing what she wanted. 

88888888

When the Girys returned, Erik and Christine had joined the rest of the cast for rehearsal and were reading through the scene following ‘Point of No Return’. Christine’s eyes lit up when she saw them. 

“Did you make the appointment?” she asked as soon as they paused for a break. 

Madame Giry nodded. “Dr. Edwards agreed to meet Erik tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent!” Christine exclaimed. 

Erik sighed. “When am I expected?”

“Half past seven,” Meg answered. “He thought you would prefer to arrive before his other patients.”

“Thank you. I am glad he considers such things.”

“I can come, too.”

“I am no child in need of coddling,” he said, amused despite himself. “I am quite capable of seeing a doctor unsupervised.”

She frowned prettily. “I do not want you to feel alone.”

“I will be fine, Christine. I do not care for this venture, but it is no real imposition.”

After a short discussion, she agreed to see to the rehearsals. Giles was staying with her for protection while the Daroga accompanied Erik. Nadir readied an open carriage and both men took their seats as the Persian gathered the reins.

“Are you willing to do this?” Nadir asked as he nudged the horses forward. “I know you do not care to be seen.”

“An open carriage is not a problem.”

“I meant the doctor, Erik.”

A faint smile ghosted across his features. “I know what you meant, Daroga. I do not wish to see a physician, but Christine was insistent and her peace of mind matters more. I can tolerate a short examination.”

“And if there is something he can do?”

Erik shook his head and looked out over the streets. “In all my years, after countless searches, I have heard nothing of a way to repair my face. It would be foolish to hope now.”

Nadir sighed and turned his attention to driving.

88888888

The nurse sent Erik straight to the doctor’s office. 

“He has not yet arrived,” she explained, “but he should be in soon. Make yourself comfortable. The doctor’s study is down the hall and to the left.”

The office was not too dissimilar from Erik’s own, done in dark wood with black leather seats. One curtained window was in the side wall. Erik imagined it would flood the room with sunlight even so early in the morning when open. Except for the window and door, bookcases lined the room. He took the visitor’s chair and waited.

Several minutes passed in silence, but Erik’s sensitive ears detected someone nearing before the heavy oak doors were thrown open and a tall, thin man hurried in. 

“I beg your pardon for the wait, sir,” he said briskly in good French. He seemed a very energetic sort, and indeed the other man did not seat himself, flitting around without coming to rest. One moment, he would be opening a book in search of something. In the next, he would be dashing off a note at his desk. 

“It was no trouble,” Erik answered. “I appreciate your consideration in suggesting I come in early.”

“Yes, yes, Mrs. Giry told me you are somewhat of a hermit by nature.”

The once Phantom wondered if the doctor had yet taken the time to look at him. “Not by nature, but by habit. I am not accustomed to crowds and prefer to avoid them when possible.”

When there was no immediate reply, Erik sat back to observe. His impression of energy seemed correct as the doctor continued to dash around. His name was Edwards, he recalled, a British physician newly arrived in Paris, though his command of the language was impressive. The man himself was very tall and thin, with a wild mop of light brown hair and eyes of an intense emerald green. He was informally attired, wearing simple trousers and a tunic topped with a coat against the lingering chill. Erik’s dark suit provided a sharp contrast. 

After several minutes, the good doctor took a seat and appraised his new patient. “I apologize; I have neither introduced myself nor requested your name. I am Doctor Jonathon Edwards. You have been informed I specialize in facial trauma and repair?”

Erik inclined his head. “Erik Destler. You come highly recommended, Doctor.”

“Do I?” the man said. “I was under the impression the French did not much care for my efforts. I am told my methods are barbaric and unlikely to succeed.”

“I care little for the sentiments of the general populace. My sister tells me you may be able to help and you have proven discreet, something I consider no small matter.”

“Ah, yes,” Edwards nodded. His face became appraising rather than the strange, buoyant fellow that had first appeared. “May I ask you to remove the mask?”

“I do not think there is anything you can do to help me. I wish to be told as much so I may placate my fiancée.”

“Perhaps, but I would prefer to be sure myself. I have seen injuries before that were not as impossible to treat as the patients thought.”

Erik frowned. “I would prefer to hear something of your work if that is the case.”

The doctor folded his hands beneath his chin and studied him. “Very well. I was schooled in London, unsurprisingly. I was perhaps moderately skilled at the time, but I decided not long after completing my training that there had to be more than they had given me. I began traveling, using what I knew to pay the bills. I eventually arrived in India. The locals were more than willing to share what they knew.

“They told me of a practice they had used for centuries to repair injuries caused by burns or other such accidents – a surgical technique that requires taking a piece of healthy skin tissue and moving it to the damaged site. I was allowed to observe the procedure twice and assisted in several others. I brought that knowledge back to Europe, but most are unwilling to believe in its efficacy. A few of my patients have been willing to make the attempt and have, I understand, made a complete recovery.”

“That is a wild story,” Erik observed as he leaned back. “I believe I’ve heard word of this procedure. It was long ago and only briefly mentioned, so I had all but forgotten. I was told that properly done it will reduce the scarring from burns and the like. I have never heard it can be used to repair a very old injury.”

“In truth, I know little more than you on that count. Perhaps the procedure is not suited for your particular case, but it cannot hurt to do an evaluation.”

The once Phantom agreed with some reluctance and accompanied the doctor to an examination room down the hall, sitting on the table and removing the protective barrier of his white mask. To Dr. Edwards’ credit, he did not react at all to the disfiguration. There was no horror or disgust in his expression as he studied the reddened ridges beneath Erik’s eye. 

“How did this occur?”

“Is that necessary information?” he asked stiffly.

Dr. Edwards shrugged. “You needn’t give me personal details. The method of injury and the time elapsed will suffice.”

“Acid burn. I was an infant at the time.” His answer was short and cold.

“Really?” The Englishman seemed interested. “How strange that it would have healed in this fashion. Most acid burns do not allow the skin to return, but this is clearly living tissue. How did you acquire these scars? They seem recent.”

“Again, I do not wish to speak of it.”

“You do keep many secrets. I shan’t press further. Knife wounds, are they not?”

“Yes.”

Edwards settled his hip on a counter and began writing his observations on a clipboard. Erik waited as the doctor muttered to himself. “Am I suited for this miracle procedure or am I not?” Erik asked finally, lips quirked in a wry smile.

“Oh!” the physician started. “I apologize; I was caught up in your case. I think you would be a prime candidate, Mr. Destler. I cannot guarantee results, sadly, but I will be glad to give it my best effort.”

“You mean to say,” Erik said slowly, “you can repair my face.”

“Again, I make no promises, but I think it is possible. Even probable if what I have seen is any indication of your powers of recuperation. If you will answer a few questions for me about your general health, I will set a time for the surgery.”

Erik replaced his mask and shrugged. “Then ask.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three, I believe.”

Edwards’ brow lifted, but he didn’t comment. “Have you suffered any sort of illness within the past six months?”

“No.”

“Any injury?”

Erik paused before nodding. “The wounds below my eye. Others on my hands and back, incurred at the same time.”

The doctor paused. “That might be troublesome. May I see them?”

The once Phantom removed his gloves without a qualm. His hands had escaped any severe scarring and were for the most part unblemished. Some smaller scars crossed his knuckles and palms, but they were faint. Edwards prodded them before nodding. 

“They seem to have healed neatly. Might I ask you to remove your shirt?”

This Erik did with more reluctance, removing his jacket, vest, cravat and shirt before turning to permit the doctor to examine his back. He knew the pattern of overlapping scars that marred the skin. 

The doctor frowned. “You have lived a traumatic life. Some of these are very old.” He ran questing fingers over them, looking for any signs of tenderness or inflammation. He found none and nodded. “Well, painful though they must have been, I see no danger in them now. You were lucky. In most cases these wounds could have killed a grown man, and I suspect the oldest were inflicted on a child. I’m surprised you survived.” He seated himself once more against the counter, writing on his clipboard. Finally the doctor set his notes aside. A large smile brightened his face, making his green eyes shine like the stars themselves. “How soon would you be able to make yourself available for the surgery?” 

Erik frowned. “You mean you will operate?”

“Of course!” Edwards exclaimed. “I think it will go well, and it should indeed be able to repair the damages to your face. I will repeat that I cannot promise the desired results, but in my professional opinion your chances are very good.”

“That is an optimistic statement. I hope you are not exaggerating.”

“No, no,” the doctor disagreed, shaking his head. “It could work, Mr. Destler. More, there is no reason to delay. Your overall health is impressive. I think we might do so within a few days, if you wish. Even tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?”

“Is that a problem?” Edwards asked. “Oh. I am sure you have other obligations. My apologies. At your convenience, then.”

Erik smiled. “Tomorrow will do. How long will it take?”

“The surgery itself is rather brief. No more than a few hours even if complications arise, which they should not. It is recovery that will be more demanding. I wouldn’t want you to leave the hospital until the next day at the very earliest to be sure an infection does not set in.”

“Very well. Tomorrow morning, I will be here.”

88888888

Erik made arrangements for his absence at once. Giles and the Daroga were tasked with protecting Christine while he was away. With some effort, Erik convinced her to promise she would not leave the Populaire unaccompanied. He said he had business at his manor, several hours’ ride from the opera house, and assured her he would return within a few days. She would continue rehearsals while he was gone.

Nadir frowned as he packed a few things. “Your estate runs well without your attention.”

“Whether it does or not, I prefer to check for myself on a regular basis.”

“You do not lie as well as you once did.”

Erik continued with no reaction. “I have no idea what you are referring to.”

The Persian sighed. “What are you doing, Erik?”

The once Phantom placed a black mask in his bag and straightened. “I am not going to my estate. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“No. I want to know where you are going and why you are lying to your fiancée.”

Erik seated himself on the edge of his bed. “If you are worried I am going after Moreau or something of that nature, you needn’t. I have no intention of chasing him down quite yet.”

“That doesn’t help,” said Nadir dryly.

“Perhaps not. Still, I am not doing anything foolhardy or fleeing authorities. I am taking care of something important.”

“That being…?”

He shook his head. “I prefer to keep some secrets, Daroga. It is not going to harm anyone, so there is nothing to fear.”

Nadir decided to let that be the end of the discussion rather than continue battling Erik’s stubbornness. He did not wish for the headache that inevitably ensued.

88888888

Christine bid him farewell in good cheer, though she was not pleased to be left behind. The lure of performing was great though, and she was glad to have the chance to practice without Erik’s strict presence. The members of the opera house were calmer while he was away, still uncertain as they were of him.

“I will not be gone for more than a few days,” Erik assured her.

“I know. Come home soon.”

“I will, Christine.” His horse was already saddled and waiting when he swung into place. “Farewell, for now.”

He urged the horse forward but kept his eyes locked with hers until Madame Giry ushered Christine into the opera house. Once he had seen her go, he turned his attention to the street and rode through the still-sleeping city. Reaching Dr. Edwards’ practice, he led Caesar into the stables and settled him in the comfortable stall arranged for his use. The nurse led him through the maze of halls to a patient’s room painted pale yellow with white trim. Erik thought he looked out of place. Still, it was not the sterile white he had been expecting.

Edwards strode in seconds later. “Good morning, Mr. Destler. I trust you made the arrangements for your stay?”

“Indeed,” Erik confirmed. “How do we proceed from here?”

“The operating suite is being prepared now. Change into a hospital gown; one of the anaesthetists will be in shortly. Once you are prepared I will perform the surgery. You should wake within three hours barring complications.”

Erik nodded and observed as both nurse and surgeon quit the room. There was a touch of trepidation in him, and he frowned as he realized it. “This is the chance I have searched for most of my life,” he reminded himself. “Now is not the time to be afraid.”

Determined, he obeyed the directions and settled on the gurney that had been left to transport him. The anaesthetist stepped in – a short man with copper hair and grey eyes. 

“Ready then?” he asked, his French drenched with a thick British accent. “Doctor said I’m to take you under. Off with the mask, sir! I can’t do my job if it’s in the way!” The once Phantom set the protective white leather aside with some reluctance, still unwilling to share his face with anyone. The other man started but settled quickly. “Now that’s a sight, isn’t it? I see why you need Edwards’ help. Sorry you had to go through whatever caused it, and I hope I didn’t offend you. I often react faster than I can think. My old head’s not too good nowadays.”

“I have been subjected to worse,” Erik said curtly.

“I’m sure you have, sir. Still, I’m a foolish old man to do so with a patient. I don’t doubt you’ve had some tough times because of it. The doctor will set you to rights.” He lifted a bottle of ether. “I’ll be using this to put you to sleep so Edwards needn’t fret that you might move during the surgery.”

“The vapors of the drug combine with the air. By inhaling it, ether can be used to induce unconsciousness and is a common choice of anaesthesia.”

The older man raised a brow. “Are you a doctor?”

Erik shook his head. “I have had ample time to explore a great many subjects, and as I lived alone for the vast majority of my life I learned medicine to preserve my health. My studies were directed more to pharmacopeia than the actual practice, however.”

“Then I needn’t explain it to you, do I?” he said with a sharp nod. “You seem a bright fellow.” He poured a careful measure of the drug and set it into the prepared breathing mask. “Down you go then, and we’ll see how handsome you look once the doctor’s done. Deep breaths, lad.”

He settled the apparatus in place as Erik obeyed, and darkness rushed to meet him. 

88888888

As the drug passed from his system, Erik pulled free of its effects and opened his eyes to sunlight pouring through the window of the yellow and white room he had been shown before. Still too weak to sit up, he touched the side of his face cautiously. Three layers of bandages covered to just below his eye. There was pain, but nothing too terrible, and a second pain on the back of his left leg was more of a searing burn. He deduced it to be the source of the skin used. 

The door opened not much later and Dr. Edwards breezed in. “Awake already? I expected you to sleep another hour yet.”

“I process drugs quickly,” Erik answered. “Did the procedure go well?”

“Indeed,” the doctor replied with satisfaction. “We cannot be certain of the results until you are ready for the bandages to be removed, but I think you will recover fully. Both sites will be tender for several days to come.”

“That is to be expected, I imagine.”

“Naturally. You should be able to leave in two days as planned. I would release you earlier, but there is always a risk of infection. It is best you remain monitored. I also want to ensure the blood vessels begin growing into the new skin. Now, I’d like to take a look to ensure everything is proceeding properly.” He carefully peeled back the bandages, nodding and clicking his tongue. “You do seem to recover with remarkable speed.”

Erik shrugged, taking care not to accidentally jar the doctor’s hand in doing so. “I always have, to my good fortune.”

“And it is serving you well now. I can honestly say I would expect a complete recovery within three to four weeks.”

88888888

Erik found lying in a hospital bed to be very dull. The back of his leg itched atrociously and did nothing to ease the tedium. When he informed the nurse, she nodded and brought a jar of ointment when it was time to change the dressing. The heavy cream eased the discomfort, but his boredom remained. After a few hours, the doctor who had seen to the anaesthesia popped in.

“Good to see you, lad,” he said in a fatherly tone as he settled in a chair by the bed. “You seem to be recovering well.”

“So I am told,” Erik said dryly, “but lying around is tedious. I would prefer to be doing something, even if that task was utterly inane.”

“Ah, well, there’s little to be done till you’ve rested longer,” he said with sympathy. “I’ve finished my work for today, so I thought to keep you company for a time.”

“That is very kind, thank you.”

He nodded. “The name’s Douglass, by the way. Oliver Reid Douglass. I’ve been told your name, but I can’t quite recall.”

“Destler. Erik Destler.”

“Destler?” Douglass repeated. “Destler, Destler… I’m sure I’ve heard that name in recent days. Was it about music? Or was it theatre? I’m sure I’ve heard your name in connection to something of the sort.”

“The Opera Populaire,” Erik answered. “Yes, I am the new owner and manager and recently completed renovations there. We have our opening night gala in less than a month.”

Douglass whistled. “That’s impressive and rightly so. If you’ve just done the fixing and you’re already setting up for a big show you must be going quite quickly. Not at the expense of quality, I should hope.”

“Of course not.” Erik shook his head. “A portion of the cast was already trained in their roles, and the sets are complete. I believe we will be ready come opening day.”

“It sounds grand. What will you be showing, then? An old classic?”

He smiled. “Oh, no. That would not do for a grand gala. I thought to pick up where the Populaire left off before the fire. We will be performing the Phantom’s opera.”

“Phantom?” the older man repeated. “Here now, what’s this about a phantom? Does your opera house have a ghost?”

“You have recently come from England, have you not?” Erik asked. Douglass nodded. “Then you have not heard the tale. The Populaire was haunted by the Opera Ghost for many a year. Imagine the shock of the inhabitants when they learned their feared ghost was a man. He forced them to perform his opera with his protégée as the lead. They plotted to kill this mystery man, but he took the place of the lead tenor and stole away his protégée before their very eyes. No one knows what transpired after that save those involved, and the Populaire was badly damaged in the fire he set to cover his escape.”

“Is that so?” Edwards asked from the doorway. “Fascinating tale. True, is it not?”

“It sounds like a grand scandal,” Douglass agreed.

“It was,” Erik affirmed. “The public was taken with the brief portion of the opera they were able to view and I am willing to accept that if it will revitalize the Populaire.”

Dr. Edwards’ lips twitched. “I am sure you need no excuse to perform your work.”

“Your – his work?” Douglass repeated, bewildered. “He told me the opera was the work of this Phantom chap.”

“Indeed. Did he mention the most distinguishing feature of the Phantom of the Opera? He wore a mask. It was removed during the show, revealing a tragic disfiguration across the right side of his face.”

Erik frowned and forced himself to sit up. “If you know that, why did you agree to do the surgery? Why would you allow me to enter your practice at all?”

“Settle down,” the doctor said calmly. “I am not condemning you, Mr. Destler. I feel no need to do so when all of Paris already vilified you once. The police said you were cleared of any charges and Mrs. Giry seems an excellent judge of character. More, you do not strike me as the terrifying specter of the rumors.”

Douglass gaped. “You mean to tell me this gentleman is the ghost in the story? I can’t believe that, Jonathon. He’s a likable fellow.”

“I do not disagree, Oliver. If what I heard of the incident is correct, Mr. Destler was suffering an unfortunate mental illness at the time, one that seems to have since passed.”

Erik’s frown changed to an expression of confusion. “Surely you cannot trust a murderer with so little trouble.”

“What seems murder to one person may be something else when seen in another light. I specialize in reconstructive surgery, yes, but I also took psychology courses in school. You did nothing to influence people’s opinions of your misdeeds when you might have attempted to stir their sympathy.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked quietly.

“I told you I traveled. I passed through Persia twice. During one trip, I encountered a local man that spoke of someone he called his friend. He was decried a madman and murderer, but in truth he was a bringer of mercy that killed only to spare those that would otherwise suffer. He also mentioned a disfiguration. A man in a white half-mask, he said, and so sad, so alone.” Edwards sighed. “I thought it touching when it was first told to me, and it was his story that encouraged me to pursue reconstructive surgery. When I arrived in Paris, I heard the story of the Phantom. More, there were details that indicated this mysterious ghost was the friend of the kind Persian man I met so many years before.”

“Nadir never told me about this.”

“Nadir!” the doctor exclaimed. “Yes, that was his name. Nadir Khan.”

Douglass looked startled. “I don’t know about this talk of murderers and madness,” he said after some consideration, “but I always believed in following instincts and mine say you’re a good lad, if unusual. Edwards trusts you, so I will too.”

Erik was shocked by their acceptance. “You just believe in me. Knowing what I am and what I have done does not matter.”

“Not at all,” Dr. Edwards responded. “I work to change people’s lives, the lives of those that suffered or will suffer for things beyond their control. Unless there is more, I would say that to be a fair descriptor of your past, Mr. Destler. I would not have agreed to help you otherwise. Oliver, would you be so kind as to check Mr. Destler’s dressings for me? I have an emergency surgery coming in. The other anaesthetist will be assisting.”

“I’ll see it done,” Douglass promised as Edwards stepped out to prepare. “Well, you know how to set an old man’s head to spinning, lad, make no mistake. You had me good and riled. Still, I reckon you to be a decent fellow. I’ll be glad to come see your show if you’ll tell me how to go about finding a ticket.”

“You are welcome in the manager’s box if you do not mind company. As it happens,” Erik said with a thin smile, “I won’t be needing it.”

Douglass’s brows flew up. “You won’t be attending your own premiere? Bit unkind to the cast, are you?”

“Not at all. I shall be on stage with them.”

The older man rocked back in his seat, impressed. “Is that so? You’re a singer as well as a composer, then?”

“I did tell you the Phantom took the stage that night.”

The anaesthetist shook his head. “You’ll give me a heart attack yet with your wild revelations. Let’s see to those dressings. I shan’t like to see Edwards’ face if he finds them the same once he’s done.”

He undid the bandages with practiced hands as the younger man considered. “Are you and Dr. Edwards related?”

“Not by blood,” he answered. “Boy’s family wanted him to go into law – couldn’t see his gift was for healing, and his heart as well. I worked in the clinic that hosted the students and took him under my wing. His skill was new and untrained in those days, and he needed a direction. I went with him when he began his travels. England wasn’t for him when we returned so we headed here. I’m more the lad’s father than his true one.”

Erik understood. “I have never been close to my father. I left home at nine years old and did not see him again until a few months ago.”

“Ah, it’s a hard thing to be at odds with family.” He settled a fresh dressing against the surgery site. “I miss mine something terrible. My parents died ten years ago. I was an only child, so I’ve no siblings. Jonathon’s all I have. He’s a good lad though, and it’s pleased I am to have the boy about. There now, I think your face is well enough. Let’s take a look at your leg.”

He helped maneuver Erik onto his stomach. “I have a brother,” Erik admitted. “We were rivals for my fiancée’s affections before he knew who I was. I almost killed him.”

“Ah, lad, Jonathon was right about the suffering you’ve gone through. It can’t have been good for a young boy. Did your brother grow up well?”

“My brother is a nobleman. He had everything. I lacked even affection.”

“That’s a terrible way of life. It’s sorry I am you had to deal with such trouble.” A second dressing was fixed in place and secured with fresh gauze. “Still, things change, you being a respectable businessman with an opera house and engaged to be married. If I had that chance, I’d be seeking to make amends. We can set your looks to rights. You can do the same for your kin.”

“I have been told as much on a number of occasions in recent times.”

Douglass shrugged. “As it’s a wise choice, I can’t consider it surprising. You won’t live forever, and you can’t always be angry over the past. Do you want to die with it unresolved?” He finished tying off the bandage. “Well, that’s taken care of. I should take my tired old body to bed before it gets much later. Will you be all right?”

“I have been alone most of my life. A night unaccompanied is nothing new to me,” Erik said with faint bitterness.

The older man shook his head. “Lad, the time’s come you understand you don’t have to be alone. You could ask a nurse or orderly to take a message to your fiancée if you want the company, or you could contact your parents or brother.”

“They do not know I am here.”

“What kind of fool are you, boy? Surgery is a risk even with a skilled doctor. You should have told the people you care for. What if it had gone wrong?” Douglass sighed as he helped Erik lay back again. “Still, I’m for home and bed. Think on what I’ve said and I’ll see you come morning. Sleep well.”

Douglass left without saying anything else. Erik lay awake for some time considering his words. They bore more weight than he had previously expected.

88888888

Erik woke with the dawn, as was his habit in these days of walking under the sun. It took a moment for his normally quick mind to recall the reasons for both the pain and his unfamiliar surroundings. He sighed and cautiously sat up. The bandage on his face was a good reminder of his purpose, but for a moment it was unsettling. He had spent a long time seeing the world through a hole in a mask.

A nurse came in with a breakfast tray. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” he answered as she swung a small table over his bed and set the tray in front of him. “Do you know if there is a way to get a book or paper and pen? I find myself ill at ease just lying here.”

She frowned in the pretty way only a young woman had and considered. “We encourage as little movement as possible after a surgery.”

“The surgery was done on my face and leg, not my arms. I would appreciate something to pass the time,” he snapped. “If the doctor has a problem with it, he may discuss it with me.”

The nurse left in a huff and Erik suspected he heard her say the doctor should have sewn his mouth shut while he was operating. It made him smile a little. Edwards joined him a few minutes later, various papers under his arm.

“Gabriella tells me you are bored.” 

Erik deduced from the doctor’s expression she had said a number of unflattering things besides. “I am not accustomed to inactivity. Even living alone I had a number of things with which to occupy my time. Something to read would do.”

Dr. Edwards offered him a newspaper. “I already read it. As for the rest of the day, I can find you a few books once I finish my rounds.”

The once Phantom gratefully accepted the paper. “Thank you. I upset your nurse.”

He sighed. “Gabriella is touchy at times and not the best for dealing with patients, but she is a skilled surgical assistant.”

There was a rap at the door, and it swung open a moment later. Douglass stepped in with a wan smile on his face. “Good morning, lads. Jonathon, the police sent word of a riding accident and want to know if you can take the patient. She was thrown into a post and took most of the impact across one cheek.”

Edwards winced. “Yes, of course. Have them send her right away and get someone to prepare the surgical suite. If it will require an operation it would be best to accomplish it as soon as possible. Do you want to take this procedure or wait for the one this afternoon?”

“I’ll be sitting both if you have need of me.”

The younger doctor shook his head. “No, this afternoon’s should be simple. Gabriella will do the anaesthesia for me later if you can be spared now.”

“Then I’ll gather whatever we might need. I hope the poor girl’s all right. It’d be a shame to damage a pretty face.”

Edwards’ mouth set in a firm line. “Whatever the damage, I’ll do my best to set it right.”

Douglass bustled out and Edwards looked at Erik apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mr. Destler, but I think it will be a while until I can find you something to read.”

“No need to worry,” Erik assured him. “I understand the importance of an emergency.”

“Still, I appreciate your understanding. I’ll have another nurse bring you pen and paper as soon as possible and to check your dressings.” He seemed ready to say more but frowned and hurried from the room.

Erik watched him go with a faint sigh. He had come to enjoy the young doctor’s company, and the elder as well. It was strange that he would accept other people so soon, but the Englishmen were becoming something close to friends. He turned his attention to the newspaper in his hands. A nurse came and cared for the bandages with quiet efficiency, but the once Phantom paid little heed. Once he had read the paper, his thoughts turned to Christine and the danger they faced.

He feared what might occur with Moreau, but he would not let it consume their lives. He was taking a step to give Christine what she had so long desired – the ability to live freely in the wide world. They would not have to fear reactions to his mask, his face, should the surgery prove successful. Reaching for the pen the nurse had given him, he drew a musical staff on the first sheet of paper and began to compose.

Still, he knew Moreau lurked somewhere in the shadows, readying to strike in his first moment of weakness. 

88888888

With the police searching, Moreau was forced to hide. Few of his men remained, loyal as they were only to the coin they gained. Each day another would slip away, or two or three. More, the treachery of Giles and the benefits he reaped was whispered of. Some considered turning to the erstwhile Phantom with information in hopes of similar treatment. Only the insanity in the disowned nobleman’s eyes and the mounting body count stopped them.

88888888

“I see no reason to keep you here a moment longer,” Dr. Edwards decided the next day. “The blood vessels are already growing. The stitches should be ready to be removed within a week, so you’ll need to return for that. Your nurse has instructed you in regard to the dressings?”

“Yes. The medicines and bandages are in my bag.”

Edwards nodded. “Good, good. Remember to change them three times a day. If there is any sign of infection I expect you to come in immediately. It would be terrible to lose the progress you made because it was not treated as soon as possible.”

“I am not so distrusting of doctors that I would risk an infected surgical site. I am told the result is quite painful,” Erik said dryly.

“Whatever your reason, take care. There have been no signs of rejection, which is promising. If you wish to change to your normal clothing, I will be filling out the release papers in my office.”

Erik dressed, though he was slowed by his aching leg. He frowned at the bandages but dismissed them as no more than a minor inconvenience. Once ready, he paced the room a few times to loosen muscles grown stiff from the past days’ inactivity. When he was satisfied he walked to the doctor’s office, his stride not betraying his pain, and knocked on the oak doors. 

“Yes, come in!” Edwards called. Erik did so. “Have a seat. I am sure you realize it will take time for your leg to recover. You may find yourself growing weary sooner than normal. Now, I had something I wished to discuss with you. You wear a mask, yes? At all times?”

“Always in the company of others. I go without for short periods when I am alone. Why?” Erik asked with vague curiosity. “It seems unnecessary now.”

“Oliver has given me the impression you wish to keep the surgery secret. Given the bandages I was unsure of how, but it occurs to me your mask could be the answer. May I see it?”

Erik lifted the white leather from just inside his bag. “I am not sure what help it may provide. It was created for the contours of my face, so I do not think I can wear it at all now.”

Edwards accepted it and laid it on his desktop. “Perhaps. Still, there is something I would like to try.” He fished a scrap of linen from one of the drawers and set it against the indentations in the leather as a demonstration. “If your dressing were to form the same contours as the old scars, the mask may be able to remain in place.”

“Usually the weight was distributed against my face as evenly as possible to hold it. I do not think a bandage could support it.” Erik frowned in consideration. “I would expect some sort of adhesive to become necessary.”

“Ah, but the bandages are already held in place. This mask is large enough to cover them if we can create the necessary form. If you want to keep the procedure quiet, this would be the most sensible method.”

Between them, they managed to form a dressing into the mask’s curves before setting it in place. It held, concealing the bandages from sight. 

“It does not feel the same, but I can become accustomed,” Erik decided. “Thank you for your help, Dr. Edwards. Now, your fee.”

Edwards nodded. “I would do my work without charge, but I’d be unable to maintain the practice in such a state. Still, I hope you find the price reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” Erik repeated with a faint chuckle. “You might ask for the moon and I would do my best to oblige you. What you have done is beyond repayment. I am a very wealthy man; name your price.”

They haggled for a few moments as Erik pushed the doctor to accept a larger sum. When Edwards continued to argue, the once Phantom told him to consider the excess a donation to the practice. The physician acquiesced despite his reluctance to accept what he considered far and away too much money and a substantial amount of francs were passed to him. 

“Do you always carry so much gold?” he asked dryly.

Erik shrugged. “No, but I do not have a need for cash very often. I would to give you more if you would swallow your pride long enough to take it.”

Edwards shook his head. “No, you have been more than generous. I thank you for it, though. It will be put to good use.”

“I imagine it will.” Erik began to leave, but paused at the door. “Thank you. This means more to me than I could have guessed.”

“Giving that gift has always been my goal, and you deserve the chances this will bring. You need not thank me.” His gaze shifted to the stacks of coins before him. “Make sure you return in a week so the stitches can be removed.”

“I shall.”

88888888

It was midmorning and Paris was alive. Erik looked at it as never before. Certainly the strange masked man in black drew some glances, but he paid them no heed. His eyes sought each detail of the busy city as he urged Caesar through the streets to the Populaire. 

Giving in to a moment’s foolish whim, he spoke to the gelding. “Someday, I hope I will be able to walk among them. Without the mask, without fear. I may be able to move freely in these streets.”

Arriving at the opera house, he took his bag and pointed his horse in the direction of the stable as a worker hurried out to take him.

“Where is Miss Daaé?” he asked the man.

“I saw her with Monsieur Khan and Monsieur Giles at the front steps, sir,” the hand answered before leading the mount away, never making eye contact. 

Erik sighed. “Will they never cease fearing me?” With that, he began to circle around the vast building for that first glorious look at the woman he was engaged to. A mild mischief crossed his mind. His good humor felt no need to disregard it. Rather than approach Christine directly, he went to the top of the steps and watched her. 

I am your Angel of Music… Come to me, Angel of Music…

He could not help the laughter bubbling in his throat when she jerked in response to his voice, the song only she had heard. She spun and their gazes meshed. Moments later she threw herself into his arms. 

“Erik!” she cried. “You’re back!”

He ran his hand over her tumbling curls. “I’m back.”

“I’m so glad.”

Giles and Nadir joined them on the steps. “Welcome home,” the Persian said with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “What did you do to have her dash off so?”

“Nothing,” Erik answered with a faint smile. “Nothing at all.”

88888888

The month leading to opening night passed relatively quietly. A few of Moreau’s men were found and chased off. Another accosted Christine as she walked to the church, but they were still near the Populaire and Erik came to route him. 

His regular checkups at Dr. Edwards’ kept them aware of his progress. Erik was allowed to remove the bandages under his eye two week after the surgery. Those on his leg had been removed with the stitches a week before. Though the donor site was tender and subjected him to a sharp burning sensation, it too was healing neatly. 

The night before the gala was Erik’s last appointment. He would finally be allowed to see the results of the surgery. The nurses and other practice staff smiled and greeted him as he passed through and he responded in kind, buoyed by his overwhelming hope. 

Edwards was leaving his office as Erik arrived and inclined his head in greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Destler. Are you ready?” Erik could not find the words. He nodded in reply and followed the surgeon to an examination room, seating himself on the table as Edwards set down his notes. “I see you have a black mask now,” he observed.

Erik touched the soft fabric. “Yes. We have been preparing and I want to accustom the cast to it. My white mask was no longer practical.”

“Understandable,” Edwards agreed. “Now, let us see how we did.” He set the mask aside and examined his cheek with great care. “Are you in any pain?”

“My leg continues to ache, but not my face.”

“Good, good. You have not noticed any strain?”

“None.”

“Excellent.” The doctor stepped back. “Mr. Destler, I would like to think you will be most pleased with the results.” He lifted a hand mirror from the counter and offered it to him, reflective surface facing the floor.

He accepted it as hope clashed with years of engrained caution. Memories of the first time he had seen his horrible face surfaced, but Erik forced them away. He closed his eyes and reversed the mirror before allowing himself to look.

In the clear glass of the mirror, his face was easy to recognize. The left remained unchanged, strangely handsome in contrast to the mauled right. Now, however, the right was just paler than the left with faint lines marking where the damaged skin had been removed and replaced with new. His eyelid no longer sagged and there was no dragging weight to cause pain. Oh, it was not perfect - the lines were scars, however faint, and his color was not even. The redness above his eye remained. What was remarkable to him was that what he saw was a face. It was nothing impressive, not too handsome. It was a normal human face. 

“I can scarcely believe it is real,” he murmured. “All my life mirrors have caused me naught but pain, but now there is nothing to fear. How can this be the truth? I must be having a strange and wonderful dream.”

Edwards nodded and placed a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “You would not have been so impressed had I allowed you to see from the beginning. At first your face was barely improved at all due to the stitches and inflammation. It is not perfect, but I hope you find it satisfactory.”

“Satisfactory?” Erik repeated. “My fiancée is a devout Catholic and speaks of a benevolent God capable of great miracles. With my sordid past I gave no credence to such things, believing them little more than devices to subdue the masses. Now I am faced with a true miracle and begin to wonder if I have been wrong.”

The doctor smiled. “I cannot claim to know the truth of God. My mother always taught me God did not act directly. Instead, He would move through human believers to bring peace and joy to those that need it. Perhaps now is such a time.”

“You believe yourself to be doing God’s work?” Erik asked with a faint smirk. 

He shrugged. “For whatever reason, I found a gift that betters the lives of others and I choose to do so as much as any one person can.” Edwards shook himself. “Well, my work is done. Good luck, my friend.”

Erik laughed and leapt to his feet. “Luck? You have given me an incredible gift. I could move mountains.”

Edwards frowned. “I have heard disturbing news from friends I have in the darker parts of the city. Danger stalks you and your fiancée, Mr. Destler. I hope it is only an exaggeration.” 

That drew Erik back from his euphoria. “No, much to my regret. We have been under constant threat for months now.” He shook his head and smiled again. “Now is not the time for such maudlin thoughts. My gala is tomorrow. I am engaged to a woman I love more than life itself. For a day or so I will celebrate this chance. After that I will worry about the dangers.”

“Are you going to show your fiancée once you return home?” the surgeon asked.

Erik shook his head. “Tomorrow, when the premiere is done. I will reveal this marvel to her, to my sister and her daughter, perhaps to my family if they attend. Will you be coming?”

“I’ve not attended an opera before, and I imagine the show is sold out.”

“Ah, yes,” the once Phantom nodded. “The seats are booked for two weeks now. I told Monsieur Douglass but it seems I have forgotten to tell you that you are free to sit in the manager’s box tomorrow.”

He was puzzled for a moment, but realization dawned a moment later. “Ah. You sing the tenor role, right? Are you as good as they say? I am told your last performance was spectacular.”

“Music has always been my greatest talent.” 

“Very impressive. All right, I shall attend. No doubt it will be something incredible.”

88888888

The Populaire was quiet when Erik returned, its inhabitants weary from their day’s rehearsal. He mounted the steps to his and Christine’s flat and slipped in. She was asleep on the divan, Nadir seated in a nearby chair. He got to his feet when he saw Erik.

“Where have you been so late?” the Persian asked, much as he had countless times before in Mazenderan. “And why are you still wearing the black mask?”

Erik laughed. “So many questions. I do not answer to you, Daroga. Since it is, as you say, so late, I would like to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Nadir knew the futility of arguing with Erik when he didn’t want to cooperate. Shaking his head, he left the flat to return to his own room. Erik sat on the edge of the divan and caressed Christine’s cheek. She stirred with his touch and opened her eyes.

“You’re home,” she realized, sitting up. “I meant to wait up. I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t fret,” he assured her. “I just got back. Go to bed, Christine. Tomorrow the eyes of all Paris will be on you as they witness the full glory of our music.”

Her arms curled around his neck. “They will not all be looking at me, Erik. They will be looking at you too.”

Erik carried her to her bedroom – theirs once they were married. “You are the star, Christine, and you will shine.” He set her on the bed and moved the blankets over her before seating himself at her side. “We will sing as never before. The crowds will be in ecstasy and the world will be at your feet.”

“I love you, Erik, my Angel of Music.”

“I know. I love you as well.”

“Sing for me?” Christine asked.

“I wonder… ‘Music of the Night’?” he said with a smile.

She nodded and curled up against a pillow. “Please.”

Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar… and you’ll live as you never lived before…

88888888

The Populaire was in a state of creative chaos when morning came. Costumes had to be adjusted; checks were done to make sure the sets were in ready and in place. Those responsible for cleaning were hurrying to ensure the entire theatre was spotless. Make-up was applied as dancers hurried to their warm-up exercises. 

Erik stood on the stage giving orders as Monsieur Reyer instructed the orchestra. Over the past month, the Populaire’s employees had come to warily respect him even if they were unwilling to trust. He paid them well and was absolutely fair in his treatment – rather than before when La Carlotta had been fawned over, Christine was worked just as hard as the rest of the cast, if not more so. Erik demanded perfection.

Once satisfied everyone was ready, Erik looked over the assembled cast. “Tonight is our gala opening. This rehearsal will tell me if you are prepared for your roles. If you cannot perform now, I will ask your respective understudies to take your place. No substandard lyrics, no overacting, no misplay shall be permitted.”

Christine moved next to him. “I know it seems strict, but there has been a great deal of controversy over the state of the Populaire. We must be the best we possibly can to succeed.”

“Begin,” Erik commanded. 

88888888

The rehearsal ended midday, the cast dispersing to rest before the performance. Erik and Christine sat at the edge of the stage as she leaned against him.

“Nervous, Christine?” he asked.

She laughed. “Always, and today more than ever. This show will determine the success of your opera and the Populaire.”

“I do not think it will be a problem,” Erik responded. “We worked hard. The entire cast is prepared, and the media continues to parrot the virtues of ‘Point of No Return’. You know the score; should the rest be less than satisfactory?”

A faint smile creased her lips. “It is spectacular.”

“Christine!”

Both looked up to see the vicomte and his parents standing in the aisle. Christine hurried to her feet, but Erik took his time. “Messieurs. Madame.”

Raoul spun about. “This looks amazing. You have done a fantastic job.”

“Thank you.”

He paused and smiled uncertainly. “I hope you do not mind, but I asked our parents to see the show tonight.”

“Any patron of the arts is welcome,” Erik responded, though his tone remained icy and distant. “I am sure it will prove more than worth their time.”

“Raoul says your opera is very good, Erik,” the Comtesse de Chagny said timidly. 

“I am surprised he would think so, as he was determined to have me killed if I dared make an appearance when it was first performed.”

“Erik,” Christine reprimanded, “do not antagonize anyone. Today is not for anger.”

He nodded. “You are right. My apologies. Feel free to occupy yourselves as you see fit until curtain. Christine and I must rest.”

He turned to leave, but his mother spoke again. “I am looking forward to the show. You were always very gifted.”

“Yes,” he agreed without emotion, “I was. I am surprised you realized, however.”

The comtesse sighed and turned away. The comte frowned. “You needn’t be rude.”

“There is a distinct distance between ill manners and honesty. I have decided to forego lies; therefore the truth is what remains.”

Erik walked off and Christine hurried after him.

88888888

Christine peeked from behind the curtain as she twisted her hands against her skirt. “Every seat is filled,” she whispered. 

Erik laid his hand on her shoulder. “We already knew they would,” he reminded. 

“I know. Still, there are so many people! What if I make a fool of us!?”

He laughed. “Christine, you know the part and your voice is exquisite. I cannot imagine you doing such a thing.”

The music began and they went to the side as the dancers began the opening scene. 

“It is far better without Carlotta’s shrieking,” he murmured into Christine’s ear before slipping away to await his queue. She had to smother a laugh. Erik stepped on stage and began. 

Passarino, faithful friend! Once again recite the plan.

She watched as he and the character Passarino had their brief exchange. The music shifted and Aminta walked into view just after Don Juan left. She sang her line and Erik came forward once more. His first words were not meant for her, so she kept her eyes on the basket of roses before her. Passarino exited as Erik’s gaze shifted to her behind Don Juan’s black mask. 

You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent… silent… 

She turned to see him when he said silent and looked away again, closing her eyes as he continued. Erik circled the false fire and approached. She got to her feet as he drew near, pacing around her as she turned to keep him in view. Then he was holding her, caressing. Oh, she knew it was choreography, but it felt as real as it had that first night. She was only vaguely aware of anything else as he sang. Erik drew away as she collected herself to begin her part of the duet. 

There were no guns now, no soldiers or police. Christine’s gaze slid over the boxes for a moment, but her attention returned to her partner as they began the trek up the stairs. Erik tossed his cape aside before they met in the center. 

He leaned in, face hidden by her hair. “Much better,” he whispered. The tiniest of smiles curled her lips.

88888888

The curtains swung across the stage at the end of the last act, Erik and Christine exchanging a look of triumph as applause filled the vast space. Together they stepped forward again. Erik bowed, Christine curtsied. Flowers were thrown for them. Erik presented Christine with one of his own – the perfect red rose with a black satin ribbon on the stem. She blushed as the audience cheered.

“It’s like a dream,” Christine said with a soft sigh. “A beautiful dream.”

“You were perfect, Christine. You did splendidly and have given me an amazing gift. For so long I thought this would never be possible.”

She grasped his hand. “We did it together, Erik. And your opera! They love it!”

“Yes,” he agreed, facing the crowd. “It would seem they do.” They bowed again with the rest of the cast before returning backstage. He kissed her knuckles and smiled. “You must wish to change. I will wait for you.”

Christine shook her head. “You need to as well. I will come to your dressing room when I am ready. Then… You invited guests? I would like to meet them.”

“I am sure they would as well.” Erik led her to her dressing room. A veritable mob of fans stood not too far away.

“You did very well, my dears,” Madame Giry said as she joined them. “Both of you.”

Erik smiled. “I leave Christine in your most capable hands, Antoinette. Please make sure she is given some privacy.”

Both women hurried into the dressing room. Erik eyed Christine’s admirers for a moment before turning down the next hall to his own. Once in its privacy, he removed the black mask and tossed it to the table. His face in the mirror was still startling, and he paused to examine it again. 

It was reality that the plaguing scars were gone, though it felt like an incredible dream. He would show Christine, and tomorrow… He could take his bows without a mask. They could walk in the streets without fearing unsettled whispers. The possibilities were endless. He turned away and removed the Spanish-styled jacket. A rapid knocking sounded at the door.

Erik sighed and moved to open it. A young boy, no more than five years old, shoved a paper into his hands and bolted. The erstwhile Phantom frowned but turned his attention instead to the note. 

Now she is mine.

The implication struck moments later and a terrible roar of rage tore through its way through his vocal cords. Erik ran for Christine’s dressing room and pulled at the locked door. “Christine! Christine!”

Madame Giry ran up. “Erik! What has gotten into you?!” She froze. “Your face…”

“No!” he snarled. “Christine. I have to get to Christine!”

The ballet mistress shook back her shock and focused. “Erik, she is changing.”

He only paused long enough to pass her the note before racing away in search of the key. He knew his sister kept her set in her rooms, not too far distant. His were two stories above. He darted into her sitting room and snatched the ring from the table, locating the correct key as he ran through the corridors. At the door, he jammed it into the lock and flung it open. 

The room was in shambles. The chair in front of Christine’s dressing table was upturned, and several of the flower-filled vases were broken. Worse, the floor length mirror was shattered and the rose he had given her lay crumpled on the ground before it.

“My God,” Madame Giry whispered behind him. Erik began to advance down the passage, but she pulled him back. “Erik, no!”

“I have to find Christine,” he said, fighting her grasp. “I have to help her.”

“Erik! You cannot rush in unprepared!”

Raoul appeared in the entry. “What happened? I heard shouting.” His gaze locked on his brother and he took a step back. “Dear God. Erik?”

“This is not the time!” Erik snapped. “Christine is gone!” He continued to strain against Madame Giry’s hold, but Raoul hurried over and restrained him as well. 

“Stop!” Raoul commanded. “Erik, think!”

His movements slowly ground to a halt. “All right,” he said finally. “I need your help. Antoinette, go to my box and bring the Daroga and Monsieur Giles. Monsieur le Vicomte, assemble the stagehands.”

Madame Giry left to follow his orders, but Raoul lingered. “What are you going to do?”

“I will gather whatever I might need. Go quickly. Time is of the essence.”

88888888

They gathered in the shattered remains of Christine’s dressing room. Erik was dressed in only shirt, trousers and boots, black mask once more in place, but his sword was strapped to his side and a lasso was looped over the belt. A pistol was at the small of his back, daggers in his boots. A few other weapons were hidden on his person, but they would be more difficult to reach in a hurry. The others – Raoul, Nadir, and Giles – were armed as well. Madame Giry and Meg stood to the side, uncertain. Stagehands were near the door awaiting instruction.

Erik took several deep breaths to steady his voice before speaking. “I will follow them. Daroga, you know the Rue Scribe entrance. Go that way and wait. I will call if I need assistance. Meg, lead Monsieur le Vicomte through the passage in your mother’s rooms. Return here once you have. Madame, be prepared to go to my box and fetch the doctors there if it should prove necessary. Monsieur Giles, accompany the vicomte.”

“Erik?” said Madame Giry. “What are you going to do?”

His expression was unreadable. “Whatever it takes.”

88888888

Erik descended in silence, following the familiar path between Christine’s dressing room and his one-time home. Unlike most routes to the house on the lake, the road did not fork, and there were no traps. It had been designed to allow Christine safe passage should she ever choose to return. 

Once Erik reached the lake, he circled the still waters and slipped unobserved into a niche in the wall. There he tapped a trigger, opening a hidden entry. The corridor beyond emerged in his library. He frowned as he observed the chamber. 

His many books had been torn from their shelves and tossed about. Several of the most valuable had vanished entirely. Erik supposed they had been sold, and he was grateful he had preserved those important to him by concealing them in another secret room. From the front, Erik heard a resounding crash. He crept cautiously down the hall and peered around the corner. 

One of his elaborate candelabras had been thrown from its setting, and the metal was mangled from its impact with the stone underfoot. An enraged Moreau was pacing through the limited space. And Christine, his precious angel, was tied to the portcullis.

For a moment the rage in his heart threatened to overwhelm him, but Erik’s strength of will forced it back. He knew he would have to be rational to ensure they would survive the night. He took stock of the situation as calmly as possible.

Moreau was not holding to a single position, but he kept a steady pattern. There were no others, so no one would be assisting Moreau. Christine’s hands were bound over her head, her back to the metal grating. She was twisting her wrists in an attempt to get free. With her feet below water-level, he could not see if she was restrained there. He thought not. 

The difficulty lay in the fact there was no easy way for Erik to get past Moreau to Christine. Though he knew little of Moreau’s personal abilities, all noblemen were instructed in swordplay and he suspected Moreau had some skill with other weapons as well. A sword laid against the ex-Marquis’ hip. 

Once again there was a fateful decision to make on that lake, Don Juan having just played out overhead. 

88888888

Christine thrashed against her bonds, but to no avail. The knots were well secured and with water to her waist she could not use her feet to get a decent grip. She directed an angry glare at her captor.

She had entered her dressing room with Madame Giry, but the ballet mistress left shortly thereafter. No sooner had the elder lady cleared the room than Moreau sprang from behind her mirror and grabbed her. With her mouth covered Christine had been unable to shout, but she had struggled against his grasp and knocked several vases to the ground, hoping the noise might draw attention. With a packed opera house, such small sounds had not been heard. As Moreau dragged her back, she made one final attempt and kicked the glass of the mirror with all the strength she possessed. It shattered, but that too went unnoticed. 

The descent had not been any easier. When Erik brought her to his house after the first Don Juan, neither had really wanted to harm the other. With no such restraint now, Christine fought Moreau’s hold, even leaving several long, angry scratches from below his right eye to the corner of his mouth. The injury provoked his formidable temper, and he backhanded her viciously. She crashed into the wall, stunned, and he took advantage of that, carrying her to Erik’s domain. Before she had been able to collect herself, she was bound to the portcullis and rapidly becoming chilled. If left there much longer, she rather expected to become sick.

88888888

Erik could see the tremors wracking Christine’s thin frame. No elaborate plan could be prepared in time, leaving only the most direct approach. He would fight Moreau. For whatever reason – knowledge, perhaps – Moreau’s hand remained covering his face, thus preventing the use of the Punjab lasso to remove him quickly. Erik loosened his sword in its sheath. Reaching for his pistol, he paused as Moreau charged into the lake and grabbed Christine’s jaw.

“Where is he?!” the madman demanded. 

Christine shook her face free. “He must be summoning police, or he’d be here already.”

“No!” Moreau shouted. “He would not go to the police. He would come for you first, and well you know it. NOW WHERE IS HE?!” Spittle flew, speckling one of Christine’s cheeks. 

The young soprano recoiled. “I don’t know! I was never shown all of the secrets of this place. There may be a thousand ways in!”

Moreau’s eyes narrowed to slits. “No… He is already here.” He drew a pistol himself and jammed it against Christine’s pulse. “Come out, Erik!”

Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath before standing and walking to the steps of the small dock. Moreau’s eyes followed every move. “I am here.”

“I have your precious fiancée,” the ex-marquis taunted. “What will you do to make sure she survives?”

He met Moreau’s gaze evenly. “Whatever I must.”

“No!” Christine protested. “Erik, no! You have to leave!”

“Not without you. I lost you too many times; I will not lose you again.”

“He will kill you!” She threw her weight against the ropes but only succeeded in further chafing her wrists. 

“That is a risk I must take.”

“Throw aside your weapons,” Moreau ordered. Erik slowly tossed aside his sword and lasso. “All of them! I know you have others!”

The once Phantom removed the pistol and threw it away as well. The small handgun skidded across the stone and fell into the lake, useless. “That is everything.”

“Lies!” the man hissed.

The hand that had remained against his cheek slipped, and Erik glimpsed what lay beneath. Four long scratches tore the skin in raking lines and there was enough blood to suggest they had gone deep, perhaps deep enough to scar. 

“So,” Erik said quietly. “Your madness is now reflected in your form. How fitting.”

Moreau growled. “And your madness? What of that?”

“My madness was created by the torment of my face. Had I been permitted a normal life, I suppose I would have remained quite sane.”

“Ha! You are still mad, whether you will admit it or not!”

Erik shrugged with elegant grace. “Perhaps you see it in such a way, but my mind has healed and I am at peace.”

“Peace!?” Moreau repeated, eyes bulging. “Peace!? You rob me of my birthright and destroy all I have worked to achieve, and you are at peace!?”

“Birth does not dictate the course of life; I am proof of that. It was your actions that stripped you of both title and fortune. And what you worked to achieve? It is disgusting that you can even speak those words. You basked in the glory of those who worked to better their abilities, stealing from them as surely as a thief takes jewels or coin. You sought to deprive those with gifts of their freedom, their very lives.”

“And you!? You, who would kidnap a woman who wished to wed another!? You are in no position to lecture me!” 

Erik met his fire with ice. “I will not lie and say I did not do such a thing. You are right; I committed that crime. It occurred while madness clouded my mind and left me bereft of logic. At least I may honestly say I have learned from my past and will not repeat those tragic mistakes.”

“You are no better than I!” Moreau screamed. 

“Then explain why, if your quarrel is with me, you chose to abduct an innocent, to threaten her life to hurt me.” He gestured at the pistol pressed to Christine’s throat. “She is not the one you want. Release her.”

“Oh, no,” Moreau laughed. “Perhaps now that you have joined us I will kill her. Would that hurt, Erik? Would watching her die destroy you as you have destroyed me?”

“Losing her would do all that and more. Is that not why I came? If you harm her, I will hunt you to the very ends of the earth. I have the means to do so. My father and brother would back the attempt. There is no place you would be safe from my wrath. If you kill her, I will not grant you a merciful death. You will suffer for as long as I choose to draw it out. Every bit of pain she has been forced to endure because of your evil, every time I have seen fear in her eyes, they will be returned a thousand times over and you will be begging for mercy before the end.”

He stepped down into the lake, but Moreau increased the pressure of the pistol against her pulse. “Do you want her to die?”

“I want you to release her and let her return to the world above. After that we will settle things between us without interruption.”

“I release her and you would vanish moments later to set the police on me!”

“This battle is personal. I do not intend to involve the police.”

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed.

“Believe what you will.” Erik continued forward until he stood in the center of the lake. “I cannot reach a passage from this point, and I do not intend to move until Christine is gone.”

Moreau paused and considered before aiming the gun at Erik’s chest. “Untie her. Slowly. And keep in mind that if you reach for a weapon you will both die.”

Erik knew it was a trap, and he intended to step into it. Christine realized it as well. “Don’t!” she protested again. “Erik, just go! I’ll be all right!”

His gaze met hers, and his eyes were calm. “You know I cannot leave you.”

“Erik, please,” she pleaded. “I couldn’t bear it if you died.”

“Your life would go on. You have friends, and Monsieur le Vicomte loves you still. If I lost you, I would lose everything.” He crossed the remaining distance in measured paces and caressed her cheek for a single tender moment. “I would do anything to keep you safe.”

“I know,” she whispered.

His hands moved to the knotted ropes, loosening the bonds holding her in place. 

A soft scraping sound was all the warning he received. Pivoting, Erik interposed his body between Moreau and Christine as the madman swung his now unsheathed weapon. It cut deeply into Erik’s torso. The once Phantom collapsed without a sound, vanishing in the clouded waters. 

“No!” Christine screamed, pulling desperately at her restraints in hopes of reaching him before it was too late. 

Moreau laughed. “And now he is gone! He will never interfere again!” 

88888888

Sound was dulled by the pressing water, but Erik heard. His wound burned as his lungs began to protest the lack of air, but he forced the weakness away and focused. First, something had to be done for his injury – it was bad. The slash crossed just beneath his ribs, ricocheting off one, and Erik suspected if it had not he would be dead. Grasping a piece of half rotted cloth from the bottom of the lake, he folded it into a thick pad and held it against the injury. The pain increased, but it would slow the bleeding. 

He knew very little time remained before he would be forced to surface. In such a disadvantageous state, Erik had to be sure he could strike quickly or his waning strength would make him an easy target. Moreau was not going to fail a second time. He focused on his position. 

Moreau’s legs were not too far away, Christine’s a short distance beyond. Erik slipped around so he was behind Moreau as he turned and waited.

88888888

‘Bodies come to the surface,’ Christine realized a moment later. ‘They float. Erik… is not dead?’ If Erik was alive, he needed a chance. She could distract Moreau.

“Let me go!” she shouted. “You killed him! Erik!”

Moreau rounded on her. “It’s no more than he deserved. He ruined my life!”

With those words Erik leapt from the water, hands closing around Moreau’s throat. Moreau staggered back several paces but the Phantom followed, his grip never faltering. 

“How did you survive!?” the ex-marquis snarled as he fought the choking hands. 

“I live because I have something to hold me here,” Erik said as he drove Moreau back further. “And now I will kill you for threatening that.”

Erik lacked the strength to snap Moreau’s neck as he so deserved. Instead he kept his attention on maintaining his grasp. Willpower was all that held it in place. Struggling, Moreau managed to reach a hidden dagger, but his vision was fogged by lack of air. The knife connected when he flailed, and silence fell for one long second.

Without aim, the blow sliced through the band holding Erik’s mask in place and scored a thin cut against his left cheekbone. His head dropped on instinct, but he slowly lifted it again as the mask fell into the lake, blue eyes burning. Moreau was so shocked he did not notice when Erik’s grip momentarily grew slack. 

Rather than the disfiguration he had seen before, nothing was there. The skin of Erik’s cheek was smooth and unmarred save a few faint scars, and his eye did not sag. 

“How is that possible!?” Moreau gasped with what little air remained in his lungs. 

A deadly smile curved Erik’s lips. “A miracle,” he answered. 

Though his words were filled with bravado, Erik was not sure. He was beginning to lose his grasp on reality with each drop of escaping blood. Unconsciousness beckoned. If he could not kill Moreau before he fell… Well, he would not awaken, and Christine’s fate would be uncertain at best. 

The erstwhile Phantom made a herculean final effort, using every remaining bit of strength to increase the pressure on Moreau’s throat. To his surprise, he felt something give way. Their foe shuddered in his grasp, and there was no hiss of breath. He had crushed Moreau’s windpipe. Erik released the man and stepped back, watching his form fall into the water. Even if the ex-marquis still lived, it would not be for long. 

Christine, who had continued to work on her restraints after Erik loosened them, broke free as he slipped to his knees. Before he could fall into the lake again she was there, supporting his weight as best she could and keeping his head above the surface. Her face paled as she saw blood in the water.

He lifted one hand and touched her cheek, ignoring the pain the movement sent racing through him. “At least… you are all right…”

“God,” she gasped. “Erik! My God… Are you…?”

“I do not intend… to die… just yet…” he answered, but his voice was weak and his eyes closed. “He cannot hurt you… now…”

His body fell still and Christine had to struggle to hold him up. “Erik! Oh, God! Help!”

88888888

Raoul grumbled, paying no attention to the stagehands waiting behind him. “We cannot see a thing.”

“Monsieur Erik surely intended that to be the case,” Giles said. “No doubt Monsieur Khan found himself in a similar situation.”

“Why would he send us here if we cannot see what is occurring!?”

“He did not want us to be able to. We might be visible to the marquis, or we would interfere and disrupt whatever he is doing.”

“What if he has killed them both!?” Raoul demanded.

Giles lifted one brow. “From what I am, told you and Monsieur Erik are not on the best of terms, but you seem quite distraught.”

“Christine is down there too,” Raoul reminded. 

“Yes, but I do not think that is all that concerns you right now. I think you might be cross at the distance between yourself and your brother.”

The vicomte sighed but nodded. “He is not the same man. He is… calmer. Happier. He does not frighten me anymore.” A shout echoed through the air, and he tensed. “Christine!”

Giles listened. “She is saying… Help? She is calling for help?”

“What else!?” he demanded.

“Monsieur Erik’s name and help. I have not heard anything else.”

Raoul fumbled for the concealed lever to open the door. “We need to get to her.”

Giles blocked him. “What if Moreau is still alive!?” he snapped. “We could get them killed if we rush in blindly.”

“She needs help!”

Nadir appeared behind them. “You heard that?” 

They nodded, but Raoul frowned. “I thought you were sent through another passage.”

“Erik taught me the secrets of this place long ago, and I am familiar with his work. Each path connects if you know where to look. I heard Miss Daaé call for help, but I could not see them from my location. However…” the Persian depressed a hidden trigger and a small window swung open. “Now we can see what has happened.”

Raoul, the closest, peeked through. It only took a moment to find Erik and Christine in the center of the lake. “I do not see any sign of Moreau, but Erik is not moving.” He froze. “There is blood in the water.”

“Erik!” the Daroga shouted as he hurried to unseal the door. A moment later he took stock of the situation. “He is wounded. Giles, Vicomte, help Miss Daaé move him to the steps, but do not remove him from the water. I think it is all that is keeping him from bleeding out. I want the rest of you to find a litter or some way to carry Erik to a bed once a doctor arrives. I am going to inform Madame Giry.”

The men hurried to follow his orders. Raoul and Giles splashed out to Christine, and she looked up at them with tears in her eyes. “Erik – Is he…?”

“I don’t know,” Raoul answered as he grasped one of his brother’s arms. “Monsieur Khan has gone for Madame Giry. She will bring the doctor.”

Giles took the other and they carried him to the steps of the dock. Christine followed, refusing to let go of him. “Can someone get me a cloth to staunch the bleeding?” she called.

One of the stagehands hurried to one of the fallen curtains and used a dagger to tear away a large section. He passed it to her. She folded it into a thick pad and pressed it against the wound. Erik flinched but did not wake.

88888888

Nadir tore up the passage and into Christine’s dressing room with a clatter. Madame Giry was there at once, demanding to know what had happened.

“No time,” he snapped, cutting her off. “I am sorry to be rude, but I cannot speak now. Fetch the doctor and lead him below at once. Erik is badly wounded.”

The ballet mistress nodded and raced through the halls, her daughter right at her heels. Throwing open the door, she took the steps to Box Five two at a time and burst in. “Messieurs,” she gasped, “pardon my interruption, but I am told one of you is a doctor?”

“We both are,” Dr. Edwards replied, startled. “Dear God, woman, what has happened!?”

“Erik has been wounded,” she explained. “I was sent for help.”

Edwards and Douglass leapt to their feet. “What happened?” Douglass asked. 

“I have no details, monsieur. I beg you to hurry. It must be quite bad or Monsieur Khan would not have been in such a panic.”

Edwards nodded, all business. “Will medical supplies be available for our use or must I send for my own?”

Madame Giry shook her head. “Erik keeps such things. I will bring them to you once we arrive. We must hurry!”

“Of course. Douglass, are you staying here?”

The elder doctor shook his head. “He’s a good lad. I’d like to see for myself that he’ll be living through this.”

“As you wish. Mrs. Giry, if you would lead the way? Is he in his flat?”

“No,” she answered as she proceeded down the steps to rejoin Meg. “He is in the catacombs beneath the opera house.”

“At least that is a small mercy,” Edwards said as he followed her. “The chill will put him at risk of fever, but it can slow the bleeding. He has a strong constitution, so he should survive.”

“I hope so, monsieur.”

She led them to Christine’s dressing room, and they paused to observe the broken vases and mirror. “What happened here?” Douglass asked. 

“An enemy of Erik’s abducted Christine Daaé after the performance.”

Edwards sighed. “I was afraid something would happen.”

Madame Giry paused. “You knew?”

“Yes. I have contacts in the dark parts of Paris. They brought word of danger, knowing I was acquainted with Mr. Destler.”

“The man will probably not cause them grief again,” said the ballet instructor, knowing quite well how Erik dealt with threats. “We should continue. The path is long.”

The Daroga met them at the edge of the lake. “The boat was damaged during Moreau’s occupation. I can lead you to his house another way.”

“How is he?” she asked. “Will he survive?”

“I know little of his condition, madame, save that the wound is terrible. Miss Daaé is unharmed and supporting Erik. I thought it best to move them closer to the house to expedite Erik being treated. They are resting on the steps of the dock.”

“Will he live?” Madame Giry pressed. 

“That I do not know. It is for the doctors to decide.”

Edwards spoke up. “I can say nothing until I have seen the wound, but Mr. Destler is very resilient. He made it through a complicated surgery with no difficulties and has survived many near-fatal injuries. I would be very surprised if this is different.”

“Yes, Erik has survived a great deal,” Madame Giry agreed, “but he has grown unused to the cold and damp of the catacombs. That might be in his favor where his wound is concerned, but a fever could take him just as easily.”

“True enough,” Douglass agreed, “but Jonathon has a skill for medicine. If there’s a way to do it, Jonathon will save the lad.”

Nadir glanced back at Edwards for a moment. “You must be the surgeon Erik went to. I did not realize you were the same man I met so many years ago. Are you the one responsible for that change to his face, then?”

“That I am,” Dr. Edwards answered. “He wanted to keep it secret until he knew the results. I did the final evaluation last night.”

“And the fool said nothing,” muttered the Persian. “Had he mentioned it then, or even earlier today, we might have been able to celebrate properly. Now such an unexpected miracle is eclipsed by the current state of things.”

“Worry over it later,” Douglass suggested. “Now it is more important to see that the lad survives to enjoy his handsome new face.”

Nadir led them through the same passage Erik had taken not long before. Madame Giry hurried to locate Erik’s medical supplies. Edwards looked around for a moment before taking command of the situation.

“Use that litter and get him to the nearest bed. The cold has done all it can; now we must warm him before fever sets in.”

“My room is closest,” Christine said as she shivered and stared with obvious worry at Erik’s pained expression. “Up the steps to the right.”

“Thank you, Miss Daaé. Quickly, men. If you value your employer’s life, you had best heed my commands.” Edwards’ orders allowed for no argument, but he was calm. 

Several of the stagehands had to work together to shift Erik onto the stretcher they had located. Christine would not relinquish his hand as they carried him to the phoenix bed and set him against its red velvet sheets. 

Douglass caught her shoulder. “It’s clear enough you’re devoted to one another, but now you must think of yourself. You’re soaked to the skin, lass, and it wouldn’t do if you collapsed and forced Jonathon to divide his attention.”

“What?” She blinked a few times. “Oh, God, you’re right. I cannot hope to help him if I become ill as well. What do I do?”

“Get yourself dried off and change into something warm. You needn’t stay in the damp. We will send you word of his condition.”

Christine shook her head. “I can’t leave. Not when he risked everything to save me. I have things here.”

“Well, see that you change, lass, and be careful. Take the other girl with you so she can warn us if you go into a swoon.”

She spotted Meg’s fair hair. “Yes, she can help. I just have to get some dry things.”

Meg came when she called and helped her choose a warm gown before ushering her away, telling her mother they would be making use of Erik’s quarters. The older woman nodded before her gaze turned once more to Christine’s chamber as the doctor cared for the wound and did his best to return warmth to Erik’s frigid limbs. Raoul joined her moments later.

“I went to my parents,” he said in a low voice. “I thought it best they hear it now rather than in the morning news.”

“And what did they say? Do they mean to ignore the plight of their eldest son?” 

Madame Giry could not ease her condemnation of the comte and comtesse. Had they believed their sons when the two spoke of the dangers Moreau posed, they might have taken a hand in preventing what occurred that night.

The vicomte sighed. “Erik did not want their assistance, you realize. When Father offered he turned them down. He said he had spent so long on his own he did not require another man’s aid to protect himself and those near to him.”

“Had your parents been kinder those years might not have been passed in isolation.”

“True,” he admitted sadly. “Still, they know it was a terrible mistake to treat Erik as they did. Father is making arrangements for him to be transported to the estate. He’ll be able to rest more comfortably there.”

“Rather than worry over where he might recover,” Madame said after a lengthy pause, “we had best pray he will need that rather than a grave. The doctor’s expression did not bode well when he was able to look at the wound.”

“Did it not?” Edwards asked tiredly as he stepped from the room. “My apologies. I did not mean to worry you.”

“How is he?” the Daroga demanded as he reached them. Christine looked up from her place at the organ bench. “Will he live?”

“With any luck, yes.” The doctor raised his hands against several voices speaking at once. “To be quite honest, that wound should have killed him at once. Miss Daaé, was he moving in any way as it occurred?”

Christine nodded. “He turned. His back had been to Moreau.”

“It’s a good thing he did or he would likely be dead. Had the blow connected as intended, it would have severed the spinal column. Perhaps with a great deal of fortune and immediate medical attention he might have survived, but he would never have been able to walk again.”

She swallowed. “What must we do to be sure he lives?”

“I have cared for the wound and done what I can to prevent infection, but I will not lie and say all is well. The water’s chill kept him alive long enough for me to reach him, but it was not clean and I will not be surprised if he develops a fever.”

Madame Giry began to say something, but Christine interrupted. “Then we make sure he is as comfortable as possible, and someone must stay with him. I would, but he would not want me to abandon everything we worked for. Someone must be able to care for him if I cannot.”

“Father made arrangements to transport him to the estate,” Raoul contributed. “With a full staff, we could see to his comfort and be sure he is not left unattended.”

“No,” she disagreed. “Erik would not want a stranger when he wakes. It must be someone he counts as a friend, someone he can trust.”

“I cannot be away from my practice for long,” Edwards said, “but I can stay with him for a day or so.”

“Actually, Jonathon, if you’ve no pressing need for me I’d be happy to monitor the lad. You’re the one who has to stay with the practice. I can care for him until he’s well again,” Douglass suggested.

“That would do, I think. My lord, I suggest every arrangement for Mr. Destler’s transport is seen to before we consider moving him. What way would be the swiftest from these tunnels?”

“For safety, the passage you came through,” Nadir told them. “For time, the path to Rue Scribe, but that is heavily guarded.”

“Is there any way to disarm the traps?” Raoul asked.

The Persian shook his head. “If there is, only Erik knows. There are things he kept even from me. If you know where to look, they can be avoided.”

“Would you know?” Edwards asked Christine.

“No. I never entered this place without Erik to guide me.”

Meg laid a hand on Christine’s shoulder. “You are holding up well, but surely you must be horribly upset?”

“Upset?” Christine laughed. “I am terrified. I just cannot give in to my tears until I have said whatever may be of use.”

Douglass joined the girls near the organ and patted Christine’s head. “There now, lass, you’ve done all that you could, and we’ll see to the rest. If you’ve a need for tears, there’s no shame in indulging. Will you be coming with us?”

She nodded. “For tomorrow at least, but I cannot abandon the opera.”

“Erik would understand,” Raoul protested. “You do not have to force yourself.”

The young soprano sighed. “It is not that simple, Raoul. The Populaire suffered for our scandalous reputations. If this opera does not succeed… No. Tomorrow Clarisse can sing as I clear my mind, but the people are paying to see me. We will not fail because I was weak.”

“That is very admirable, my dear,” Madame Giry said with a wan smile. “Still, I am glad you will take a day before you return. I will see to matters here.”

“Thank you, madame,” Christine agreed as the dam of her tears finally broke. Meg joined her on the bench and held her as she cried. 

88888888

Erik woke to sunlight and nagging pain. Unsure of where he was or what happened, he struggled to open his eyes and look around.

He was lying on a settee beneath a canopy in the midst of a garden. It was familiar, but his mind was dull and he could not place it. Attempting to move intensified the pains that had awakened him, making it clear he was very weak.

“You’re finally up, are you?”

He knew the voice and slowly turned his head to locate it. Oliver Douglass was leaning against a tree two paces away, watching him. 

“It would appear so.” He was shocked by how raspy and worn his voice was. “What happened to me?”

“Don’t you recall?” the anaesthetist asked with sympathy. “Well, it’s not hard to fathom. You’ve been asleep for days, lad. Give your mind a moment or two to catch up.”

The once Phantom obeyed and closed his eyes. He could remember his opera being performed to great accolades. Something else… “Christine,” he realized. “Moreau took her. Is she all right?!” He began to get to his feet, but Douglass pushed him down.

“Settle down, lad. The little lass is fine. No serious injury, not even a chill. You should be more concerned for yourself. You took a nasty wound.”

Erik’s hand came to rest on his stomach, and he felt the ridges of bandages. “He thought to kill me, saying I ruined his life. I suppose in a way he believed removing me would undo it.”

“Take a drink, lad,” Douglass urged as he pressed a cup to his lips. “You’ve a sore throat, I would wager. We had to keep you sedated or you might have torn your stitches, and it was a difficult battle to keep you alive. The drugs are coming out of your system, but you’ve had very little to eat or drink.”

Erik swallowed the warm cider. “How long has it been?”

“Several days. You ran a high temperature and we were afraid it might kill you. You’re strong though, and the fever broke early yesterday morning.”

“Where is Christine?”

Even as the words crossed his lips, the soprano hurried across the manicured lawn to join him. It was clear she’d just arrived as she half collapsed to the grass by him and took his hand.

“You’re awake,” she murmured, relief in her eyes. “I was beginning to think… It’s not important now. We must focus on getting you well again.”

“To think what?” he pressed. 

She bit her lower lip. “We were afraid you would die. You lost you so much blood, and the catacombs were so cold and damp… I stayed by your side at first, but you became feverish.”

Erik caressed her cheek, not caring it took most of his badly decimated strength to do so. “Where were you?”

“At the Populaire. I wanted to stay with you, but I knew how important it was to make this opera a success.”

He glanced at the brilliant sunset painting the western horizon. “If you have been singing, why are you not still there?”

“Today was the matinee, Erik.”

“The matinee? That was not for more than a week after the gala.”

“It has been more than a week since the gala.” Her words were sad. “You have been unconscious for a long time, Angel. I began to fear you would not survive. Clarisse sang for me that first night after you were hurt, but I could not abandon our work.”

He was shocked. “I have been unconscious so long?”

“It looked awful when Jonathon and I first came to treat you, lad,” Douglass told him. “We were thinking you would not last the night. When the fever struck we thought those fears confirmed, but you proved a fighter indeed. I won’t guarantee anything, but you’ve defied the odds thus far.”

“I should have died, then. How severe was the wound?”

Douglass shook his head. “Your luck is uncanny. If the sword had hit as the blackguard intended, you almost certainly would have died. Barring that, you’d never have walked again. Still, you lost a great deal of blood. The only reason you didn’t die was because the blow glanced off a rib. It’s a miracle no vital organs were damaged.”

Erik sighed and closed his eyes. “Where am I?”

“Your parents thought it best that you rest away from the city,” Christine explained. “You were becoming restless as I left this morning, so your father suggested you get some fresh air. I suppose he was right, since you woke up.”

“It is… nice,” he said. “I do not feel the need to lie about outside, however. Staying inside would have suited just as well.”

“Your father is doing his best to ensure your full recovery,” said Douglass. “He even pays me to monitor you. In truth, he would have liked Jonathon to do it, but my boy couldn’t leave his patients for so long.”

“Yes, I am acceptable now that I am not flawed.” He could not hide the bitterness in his words or keep the pain from his eyes.

Christine caressed his face, and he realized there was a bandage there as well. “He is worried for his son. Had you been less stubborn, he would have been there sooner.”

Erik chose not to argue. “He cut my face.”

She nodded. “It was nothing to worry about, but we kept it covered while you were feverish. I can remove the bandage for you.”

He looked at her. “You never said a word. Even when you first saw, you did not react at all. Do you not care?”

The young soprano smiled. “Should it matter? I am not bothered by your scars, be they on your face or any other part of you. I learned to see past them. This?” Her fingers trailed across skin that had once borne such an injury. “This is how you have looked to me for a long time. Now others can see it too.”

He yawned, unable to stop it. “For a man that has slept for so many days, I seem to need to do so again.”

“That is how you will heal,” Douglass agreed. “I will wake you for supper.”

Erik’s eyes slipped closed. “Thank you.”

“You needn’t say thanks, lad. It’s a friend you are, and I like my friends to live.”

88888888

After that, Erik was allowed a few hours in the garden every day. He was too weak to stand or walk, but the servants took care to assist in any way possible. He saw little of his family, but Christine spent every moment at his side once she returned to the estate. He told her it would be better to stay in their flat, but she refused. She wanted to be with him. He was too pleased to argue. The soprano endured the hour’s trip to the theatre every day, and the same to return.

He healed slowly, rather than the uncanny recovery he’d enjoyed in the past. It reminded him of his age, reminded him he was not quite so young. Two weeks later he remained unable to walk and it frustrated him, to Douglass’ amusement.

“Why is this funny!?” Erik snapped. 

“It’s nothing so terrible as you seem to think, lad. I consider it a sign of progress when a patient becomes so irritable.”

“Yet I am not permitted to even attempt to stand.”

“That wound tore muscles, lad. It’d harm you more to try too soon,” Douglass explained for the tenth time that afternoon. “Until those muscles mend, it will accomplish nothing.”

“And how much longer must I wait?” he demanded. 

“A few days more, I’m sorry to say. I’ll see if the cook’s got your meal prepared.”

Erik’s angry muttering continued, but he allowed his attention to return to the book he was reading. When he heard someone’s approach, he frowned. “I do not want a single bit more broth or gruel.”

“An understandable position, son, but you should heed the doctor’s instructions.”

The word ‘son’ set Erik on guard. “Monsieur le Comte, this is a rare pleasure. What brings you to the garden this afternoon?”

“I was after a word with you, Erik. I thought it was high time we discussed the matter of your title and inheritance.”

“I am not titled and have more than sufficient personal wealth,” Erik replied coolly.

“That is not enough. By rights you are my heir. Your brother has held what should have been yours long enough.”

The erstwhile Phantom closed his book and set it aside. “Why now? I passed the entire winter here and not a word was said on the matter.”

“Had I broached the subject you would only have walked away. Now you cannot.”

He was severely tempted to try. “I suppose not, but that does not mean I am any more inclined to listen.”

“You are my heir. I expect you to accept that.”

“I have no interest. My brother may have the title.”

“Erik,” he said sternly, “this is not a choice. You are my heir, as you always should have been. Your brother is not.”

Erik looked up at his father, irritated by the inequality of their positions. Nicolas de Chagny did not seem upset or angry, but he was determined, and that gave him pause. “I do not see why you insist upon foisting the position on me when I neither desire it nor have the tools to see it done,” he said finally. 

“Such things can be taught, and you are a clever man. You might not want the position, but you should consider that it is a legacy for any children you and Mademoiselle Daaé have.”

Erik began to respond, but Douglass hurried over with a tray. “Enough, enough. No disrespect, my lord, but the lad needs peace.”

“Very well. Think on what I said, Erik.” The older man returned to the mansion as his son glared at his back.

“Settle down, lad.”

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “It seems my family will never lose the ability to drive me utterly mad.”

Douglass chuckled. “They never do. Now what has you so riled?”

“Monsieur le Comte is of the opinion that I should inherit his position when the time comes,” Erik answered.

“And is that bad?” asked Douglass. “To have a title, wealth, prestige? To be able to pass that on to your children? To be able to help those in need?”

Erik frowned. “You ask difficult questions. Here is mine. Why should I abandon the dream I have just reached for a position I do not care for and responsibility I am not prepared to deal with?”

“No one told you to sacrifice the opera house, lad. More, as the head of the family there’d be no one in a position to force you to do so. You run the business under another name, so why should your inheriting matter?”

“Dare I wonder why you are siding with my father?” Erik sighed.

“I’m not taking his side,” Douglass answered as he set Erik’s tray on his lap. “I agree with him, but I’m doing so because I see a lad who suffered and deserves what should have been his. I think you’d be able to help those who are suffering as you did.”

“You have a knack for forcing a person to face the difficult truth,” he observed.

“Aye, perhaps I do. Jonathon has said the same now and again. Still, there’s time enough to fret over whys later. Now we must focus on getting you better so you can return to your life.”

88888888

When Erik was finally freed from bed rest, it was still hard. Most of his energy had been consumed battling the fever and healing his wound. There would be another scar, curving along his side and across his chest. The cut on his face left no mark at all. Despite that, he always, always, reached for a mask that was no longer there.

Progress began to show, however. Each day he could walk further, though at first he was forced to lean on Douglass or a walking stick. It took a week before he could do without, and he tired quickly. After ten minutes on his feet he would often find himself back in bed, exhausted. 

He pressed on. The thought of inheriting weighed on him, and he worked to rebuild his strength as a distraction. He remained resolute in not wanting the title, though he saw the reasons that could force him to accept it. 

He knew before his brush with death he never would’ve considered letting himself be pressed into it. His anger had been too raw after so many years wishing for acceptance he never gained. The position would have felt like a trap. In a way it continued to – Erik had no love for society and its rules. 

Christine was behind the change, he knew. He’d risked his life too many times to count, and he rarely fretted over the danger. Seeing her face the same fate had served as a warning of sorts. He could not let the darkness he had lived in take her, which meant he had to find a way to create a stable life for them. Inheriting his father’s title would be a strong protection. More, Douglass had been very clever to encourage thoughts of aiding others. He would not say his father did not help those that depended on him, but he had no contact with the lower walks of life and thus did not have sympathy for what caused their plights. 

Erik sighed. His thoughts were in turmoil, only serving to rile his emotions. He had come to the garden to walk among the trees and flowers as was now habit, and he did not want to ruin that peace with unhappiness. 

“Erik?”

It seemed he would not be allowed to set the stirrings of temper aside. He slowly moved to face his mother. 

Lorraine de Chagny was a tiny woman, not even to his shoulder in her heeled boots. She shared Raoul’s light hair, but her blue eyes were the same as Erik’s. At the moment she was twisting her hands nervously, desperate to speak to him just the same. 

“I wanted to see if you were well,” she said, words rushed her uneasiness. “I know I have avoided you since you arrived, but it seemed… cowardly. Had it been your brother, I would scarcely have left his side, and I felt so guilty.”

“Monsieur le Vicomte would welcome company. I do not, so there is no need for guilt.”

The comtesse winced, hurt by the formality of his words. “I do not want to make matters worse between us. I came to apologize. I was young and foolish. I do not know what made me act so, but I have regretted it from the moment I did. I understand you are hurt,” she continued, “but I cannot bear knowing you hate me so.”

Erik’s laugh was icy. “You may assuage your wounded pride. I do not hate you. I feel nothing for you at all.”

Her eyes widened, tears glistening on her lashes. “You cannot mean that.”

He thought of holding firm, but his anger had gone out of him with the blood from his wound. He had no desire to rage against a wrong from so long ago. There was no reason to continue living in memories of the past. Her crime was eased by the removal of the evidence, in a way. Without a reminder in the mirror, that particular edge of his temper had grown dull. 

“No,” he said finally. “In a way it is true, but not as I intended you to believe. I am too tired for fury.” He turned away again. “Anger sustained me over the years, giving me the will to survive. Now I cannot seem to find it. I have not forgiven you, but I am no longer angry.”

“Does that mean we have a chance?”

“Perhaps. It could be this easing of my temper is temporary and that when I have healed I will return to the way I felt before. However, I suspect I finally realized there is no reason to continue living in such a way.”

“I will make it up to you,” his mother vowed. “No matter what it takes, I will do my best to give you whatever you need.”

She hurried away before he could respond, stunned by her first display of maternal love, and he looked again to the trees before sinking to the divan still set out for him.

“That was sweet,” Christine said when she joined him. She took a seat on the generously cushioned settee and he shifted to lie with his head in her lap.

“You heard?” 

She nodded. “I did not want to interrupt. I am proud of you, Erik. For surviving, for being willing to try. It is a wonder to see.”

“My father wishes me to be his heir,” he informed her. 

“What do you want?”

A faint smile curved his lips. “You, our love, and our music. It is what I have always wanted, is it not?”

She brushed a few strands of raven-colored hair from his face. “Yes, but you have those things. What is next?”

“I do not know,” he admitted. “In my heart I have no desire for a title, but I also see the good that can come of it. It is strange to lack direction.”

“If you think there is something you can accomplish by inheriting your father’s position, perhaps you should.”

“My brother has been trained to inherit and I have not. I am satisfied with the Populaire.”

“Raoul does not want it,” Christine said. “He never did. His love is for excitement and challenge. He would prefer to see new things every day rather than remain in one place.”

“I will speak to him of it soon, I suppose. Enough of that. How was the show?”

“It continues to be popular,” Christine answered. “The audiences wish you were on stage again, but the drama in the lake has garnered their understanding as well as their interest. I think when you are ready, they would be happy to see you return. Raoul cares for some of the work, and Messieurs Khan and Giles see to the rest. Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer keep the cast in line, and we began rehearsals for the next production.”

“I had scarcely thought of a new show,” Erik admitted. “What did you choose?”

“I thought Hannibal,” she answered. “Madame agreed. What do you think?”

He nodded. “It should do nicely. My understudy?”

“He is uncomfortable, but he plays the role well. Hannibal will suit him better.”

Raoul walked up to join them. As Erik regained his strength, Douglass had returned to Paris, so his younger brother aided him when he was available. One of the menservants managed the work when he wasn’t.

“Mother set out tea,” he told them. “I am to ask you to join us.”

Christine glanced down at her attire, limp with the day’s work and travel. “I should change first.” She caressed Erik’s cheek before turning to the manor. 

The vicomte assisted his brother to his feet. Erik winced, weary from his exertions. “Be careful,” he said. “I know you walked more today than you did yesterday.”

“Do you intend to bludgeon me with advice as well?”

Raoul’s laugh was cheery. “No, I think not. You would not heed any advice I had to give. Actually, I suspect you would do the opposite just to prove me wrong.”

Grudgingly, Erik admitted to himself the other man was correct. “Still, I have been forced to confront my position with all others. You have not pressed.”

“We put each other through a great deal, and I survived because you spared me when I was too much a fool to see what should have been obvious. Pushing you now would result only in further enmity. If we are to ever form any sort of bond, it will be done when we are ready.”

Erik stared. “That may be the most sensible thing I have ever heard you say.”

“I could not remain a fool forever.”

88888888

Erik watched the auction from the rafters. After all the years he spent there, the Populaire was to be torn down and replaced with a music school, something his children wanted. War had closed the opera house, and Christine’s death made it certain he would not open it again. What happened to it mattered little, but he had not been able to stay away during its final moments.

He recognized his brother, of course. The younger man had been kept away for years by travel restrictions set in place during wartime, and after the end of hostilities his poor health had delayed the trip longer still. Raoul had not sent word, but Erik had known he would be there. In a way the closing of the Populaire was a second funeral for his beloved Christine. 

His mind wandered back, as it often did in these last years of his life. He recalled how long he had fought to recover from his injury. A month after he had awakened from the fever, Dr. Edwards warily observed it was possible the damaged muscles would prevent Erik from intensive singing. He railed against the injustice of it and a part of him burned with his old anger, wishing Moreau was still alive so he could kill him again. Christine soothed it away and encouraged him to do his best and to not lose hope. 

He had consented to his inheritance, disinterested though he was. He understood his younger brother would never be satisfied with its predictability. Instead he let Raoul remain vicomte and pursue his dreams as Erik trained under their father. Once satisfied Erik knew what he could teach, Nicolas de Chagny passed the title down and retired with Lorraine to a small corner of the Rouen estate.

Erik married Christine, of course. At the end of the opera season they had a quiet ceremony in the church she had chosen. His family attended, as did those they were close to. Once it was done they toured Europe together, enjoying the time away in places where no one knew of the Opera Ghost or their sordid past. They were only Erik and Christine. 

He returned to the stage, too. After their honeymoon, he worked like a madman to regain the strength necessary. He composed as well, and by the time their second season began they were ready to stage a new show. He titled it Phantom of the Opera – a production that mirrored their early relationship. The press hung on every word, and speculation flew regarding the veracity of it. 

At first, Erik and Christine wondered if they would ever have children. Despite having been married for more than five years, she had never once conceived. They were beginning to worry when she discovered she was pregnant shortly after their sixth anniversary and left her position as the lead soprano. She only returned to the stage after that for the premiere of whatever new opera Erik composed. He often joined her.

Their first child was a son, Gustave. He looked just like his mother, with wild brown curls and big brown eyes. From his father, he inherited a deft hand with any instrument he saw. 

The second was a girl, two and a half years after Gustave. Her name was Adrienne, and her father doted on her. She too was the image of Christine, but she had Erik’s blue eyes. She was a composer and very fond of the pipe organ. 

Following her was Brice and Faye, twins that had the look of their father. Both were freckled, but Brice was quiet while his sister had Erik’s impish nature. Wildly impetuous, she was a sharp contrast to her reserved brother. The twins were just over a year younger than Adrienne. Both were singers. Brice’s voice was a perfect match for Erik’s while Faye had Christine’s clear soprano. Artists as well, Faye’s pieces were sculptures and carvings while her brother favored paints and ink.

The youngest was Charlotte, more than four years after the birth of the twins. Her uncle had been home the night of her birth and was named her godfather, resulting in her place as the new “Little Lotte” of the family. She bore the looks of the de Chagnys, fair of hair and skin. Unlike her siblings, she was not much of a musician. She played the violin but had no desire to do so professionally though the others all sought positions at one institute or another. Instead, her interest was in business. 

When the elder children showed no inclination to inherit the title, Erik began to train Charlotte. There was some disagreement amongst other nobles that sought to wed their children to the heiress, but Erik said his daughter would be the next head of the de Chagny family and that he would want her to pass on the title when she wished it. It was fortunate the man she married had no interest in usurping her. 

It was easier to think of his children, Erik realized with a tired smile. They were grown, but they were still nearby if he wished for their company. Still, he knew the only one whose presence he craved was beyond him. Christine had been dead for two agonizingly long years. 

In some ways he wished it had been injury or illness that had taken her, but that was not the case. Christine died of little more than age, and it frustrated him – he was more than fifteen years her senior. He did not enjoy being alone. Erik knew he should be happy she had gone peacefully, without pain or regret, but he wished he hadn’t been left behind. 

88888888

The years had done little to rob his wife of her beauty. Her curls had become grey and her skin was lined, but he could see through those few indicators to the glory of her youth. Her heart was beginning to fail and it pained her a little, but his knowledge of herb-lore eased it and allowed her to rest in comfort. Their children let them be alone in what all knew would be Christine’s final hours. They had already said their good-byes. 

Erik sat by her bedside without pause, his hands clasping one of hers. Nadir Khan had passed away some time ago and it had hurt, but it was nothing to what he felt now though she had not yet died. The loss of his parents had caused no more than a brief period of sadness for what might have been. Though they had mended bridges late in life, there had been no real bond of kinship between them. 

Christine opened her eyes. “Erik, you should sleep.”

“I will not leave you.”

Her smile broke his heart. “You never will. You are my heart, and you always will be. You do not have to watch me die.”

“I could not sacrifice even a second of the time you have left. I will be here until the end,” he vowed.

She laid her other hand over his. “You would not miss much. It will not be long now.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “You might recover. The doctor…”

“The doctor said there was nothing to be done. It’s time, Erik. I am ready.”

“I’m not,” Erik admitted. “You cannot leave me alone. I will follow.”

“No. You are not alone, and you cannot just give up. What of our children? Would you deprive them of both parents at once? You must live, at least for now. Settle your affairs; see that all is well here. You will follow when the time is right.”

“I will,” he agreed, sadness in every word, “but you must wait for me.”

“Even if it took a thousand years,” she promised. 

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Sing for me,” Christine requested. “Just sing for me this one last time.”

He was choking back tears. “The same song?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He did, singing words that had crossed his lips so many times before, watching as her breath grew shallow. He shifted one hand to her heart and felt its final stirrings.

“You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night…”

Erik sank to their bed and wept as he finished, knowing her heart would not beat again. He had not cried since the terrible day she had left him behind, but now he could not stop the sobs that tore from his throat. His beloved Christine, his precious wife, and she was gone…

His eldest son stepped into the room and placed his hands on his father’s shoulders. When Gustave spoke, his voice too shook with tears. “She is in no pain. She has gone to God, to rejoin her father and her friend. Grand-père and Auntie Meg will welcome her.”

Erik could hardly recall Meg at the moment. The ballerina had married a baron through a dowry he had gifted to her, but she died giving birth to her child. Tragically, the babe had died three days later. The loss had almost destroyed her mother. 

The others filed in, their spouses remaining outside. Adrienne, Brice, Faye and Gustave turned their attention to their mother as Charlotte embraced her father. “It will be all right, Papa,” she murmured. “We are still here for you. Maman would want you to be happy again.”

Happy, he thought with a derisive laugh. Happy without her? Without her laugh, her smile, her song, her love? He would never be happy in a life filled with reminders of a woman he could no longer hold. Had she not asked, he would have seen to it that he followed as soon as possible. He did not want to linger. He only wanted to be with her. 

88888888

In a way, Christine’s death had been Erik’s as well. It was only his children that held him, and it had been a battle to feel anything except grief. Madame Giry stood by him through it, always pressing him to live rather than to bury his heart with his wife. He knew she clung to him because he was all she had left. 

She was at the auction, of course, though he was unsure if she knew he was. He watched a high-class fool carry out a poster of La Carlotta with a snort. The next item caught his eye. 

It was his music box. He had crafted it after meeting a lonely child and let it play at her bedside the first night she passed in his home. He wondered which of his children led the workers to the house by the lake. Erik and Christine had taken them to see it before, when they had begun to explain their past. Adrienne had claimed it for herself as she aged, saying she could compose more easily there. 

He was quietly surprised when his brother outbid Madame Giry for the box, holding it with a strange expression. After that he saw no reason to linger. The chandelier he had destroyed all those years ago was of no interest to him. He slipped down and away, into the stables. He slowly stroked the stallion’s nose before mounting.

Erik disliked the new automobiles; they were noisy and uncomfortable. Instead, he continued to use horses. He turned his mount to the quiet back streets of Paris, those not altered to accommodate the infernal devices. Once free of the city limits, the stallion stretched into a gallop. He pulled back the reins and eased to a trot after several minutes. 

The cemetery looked much as it had that day he had gone with Christine to her father’s grave, unknowing though she’d been. There was no snow yet on the ground, but he could smell it on the air. He drew one of his roses from his pocket and laid it on the tombstone after tethering the horse in a sheltered copse not far away. The engagement ring Raoul had given her was tied to its stem. When he heard a motorcar’s approach, he stepped back and vanished into the trees. 

It was his brother, he knew. Raoul would go to Christine before he dared approach the family estate. He had loved her. Perhaps not as Erik did, but he did not doubt that the vicomte truly cared for her. The younger man had been in a wheelchair at the auction, but now he slowly walked to her grave and set the music box at the base of the stone. His motions were jerky and uneven, proof of the stroke that had left his right side paralyzed some years before. Erik stepped out of hiding and waved the attendants away before assisting Raoul to a nearby bench. 

The vicomte looked at his elder brother and shook his head. “I should have known you would be here. Why were you not at the opera house?”

“I was. After you purchased my music box, I left. I care little for whatever else was there.” He studied the other man, recognized the look in his eyes. “She did not suffer.”

“No, I imagine she didn’t.” Raoul stared at the stone. “In a way it still seems like a bad dream. She was the youngest of us, but she is dead while we linger.”

“Yes.”

“Christine is gone. It’s unfathomable. She and Meg seemed so young, so vibrant.”

“You did not return for Meg’s funeral. You did not see her at the end.”

He nodded sadly. “It would have been uncomfortable. We were not close.”

“She was in awe of you for years. I thought for a while the two of you might have made a good match. Blind as you are, you never saw it.”

“Perhaps.” He drummed his fingers against his knee. “Now, when I am old and crippled, I recognize many things I refused to notice in my youth.”

Erik nodded. “It is easy when it has ceased to matter.” He paced to the grave and caressed the little monkey’s head. “Errors that could have been avoided, words that should have been said. Once the chance is no longer there, what would have been the right choice becomes clear.”

“I loved Christine.”

“I know.”

“You never spoke of it.”

“What was there to say?” the elder asked quietly. “Should I have ordered you away from her, challenged you? It would have made her unhappy, and that I could never do.”

“Is that why we are more strangers than brothers even now?” Raoul wondered. 

He shrugged. “I have felt no enmity toward you for many a year. It was your inability to return and face the truth that continued to hold us apart.”

“I am home now.”

“Yes, but soon I shall have gone as well. Charlotte has already inherited the title and my children no longer need their father.”

“Are you ill?” Raoul demanded.

“No. I am old; I lingered these two years because there were matters still unresolved, but my heart died with Christine. I am ready to join her.”

“How long do you think it will be?”

“Tonight.” Erik smiled fleetingly at the shock on his brother’s face. “I can feel her spirit. She is waiting.”

“And your unresolved business?” he pressed.

“Is complete. What needed to be said has. There is no reason to remain.”

Raoul shook his head. “I find it difficult to believe you will die. You always seemed so untouchable after defying death so many times.”

It was true. Like Madame Giry, he wore his age well. Save for his hair turning white and the few lines at the corners of his eyes, he might still have been in his thirties, might still have been the man he was when he met his brother. 

“I am tired. I have lived through a great deal, experiences that make me feel even older than my years. I do not wish to continue.”

“If you say so,” Raoul said doubtfully. 

“It is cold, and your health is poor. You should go to the estate. I will follow soon.”

The younger man looked around. “How did you get here?”

“My horse is nearby. I do not care for the vehicles that are growing so popular. Go, Raoul. I want to stay a while longer.”

They both knew it was the first time Erik had addressed him by name.

Raoul’s nurse assisted him into the car and they drove off. Erik’s gaze returned to his wife’s grave. Uncaring of his suit, he sat and caressed the stone portrait of her. 

“I will join you soon, Christine. I resolved things with my brother as you wanted, and the children know I am ready.” He sighed. “These two years have been so hard. I can’t really live in this world without you. Those fool women that thought I would want to remarry, the demands of my work… I have no interest in anything. All I want is to be with you.”

He got up and returned to his horse. After one last, lingering glance at her final resting place, he mounted and rode to the de Chagny estate.

88888888

Charlotte was the only one of his children who stayed at the family manor, her brothers and sisters having long ago built places of their own. Her daughter, Soleil, was a little golden girl that leapt into her grandfather’s arms. 

“Grand-père, Uncle Raoul is here!” she chirped.

Erik tousled her wild golden curls. “Yes, I know. I saw him when I was visiting Grand-maman. May I talk to your mother, my little angel?”

She nodded and slipped down, running to join her siblings. Charlotte looked at her father in concern. “This is it.”

Erik smiled. “I think so. I have been without your mother long enough.”

“You could hold on,” Lotte began. “Soleil, Richard and Spencer deserve a chance to know you as we do.”

“Your children will remember me, brief though our time was. I have waited as long as I can, Charlotte. I do not have the strength now.” He looked after Soleil. “Your mother and I will live on in each of you. Soleil is so very like her.”

“I know. You said as much from the moment she was born.”

“Would you do something for me, Lotte?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she said, concerned.

“When they are old enough, tell them our story. I want them to know your mother as I knew her best. I want them to know the woman I fell in love with.”

“And you?” Lotte pressed. “Your story is less than flattering.”

“Teach them people cannot always do what is right and make them understand the importance of knowing when to let go. Charlotte, please.”

She nodded as her husband joined them. He was a stern, quiet man, but Erik knew he would care for his daughter. Erik bowed his head before walking to his chamber.

Grant Chevalier stroked his wife’s hair. “You are distressed.”

“My father intends to die tonight,” she said shakily.

He sighed. “This cannot be a shock. You know he has had little interest in life since your mother passed on.”

“Yes, I know, but Grant, he is my father. You did not know him when I was young. He was indomitable, unstoppable. These past two years… he’s been a different person.”

“He lost the woman that mattered most to him,” Grant said. “It changes a man.”

“But his children – his grandchildren –”

“Charlotte, he knows you and your siblings do not need him. His grandchildren will remember. He has given up his opera house, his title. What is left to hold him here?”

“He asked me to tell the children their story when they are old enough.”

“So tell them. They will understand his message.”

She turned against his chest. “I cannot believe he could die. He survived so much, but it is grief that will kill him? It does not seem right.”

“Your father has been preparing for this since Lady Christine died. You know that.”

“Uncle Raoul is here.”

“Soleil told me.” The young man looked to the room where their children hurried to find their newest creations to show him. “I think that is why Lord Erik is ready to move on. He and his brother have finally made amends.”

“Do you think he knows?” Charlotte asked.

“I imagine he does.”

Soleil hurried to her parents. “Maman, where is Grand-père? I want to show him the new picture I drew!”

“Grand-père went to bed, Soleil.”

Grant knelt in front of their six year old daughter. “Grand-père is going to the angels, princess. He is going to Grand-maman.”

The little girl frowned, not understanding. “He is going back to the cemetery?”

Charlotte shook her head. “We should go to your brothers. Grand-père is tired.”

88888888

Erik leaned against the door for a moment. In recent days he grew weary with the least exertion, increasing his belief that he would soon be rejoining Christine. He heard Soleil’s innocent question and sighed, but he knew her parents would explain. They would grieve, but they would heal. He could not recover from what ailed him. He also suspected Madame Giry would not be long behind. Without Christine and Meg he had been all that was left for her, and once he was gone she would be alone.

Christine haunted him. Her voice, her face, her scent, everything tantalized him though she was not there. He grew weary of reaching out only to have the dream vanish as he woke. It was time to join her in truth.

He slowly set his boots aside and shrugged off his cloak. His suit jacket and vest soon followed, and he loosened his shirt. Doing so exposed the long scar Moreau had given him, but he did not care. The villain was long dead. He walked to his wardrobe and reached into the very back. Opening a concealed panel, he removed a leather half-mask, yellowed with age. 

“This is it,” he said in a soft voice. “This is the end.” 

He tossed the mask to the bed before locating a simple set of black pajamas and a black robe. Even Christine’s influence over the long years had not altered his preference for the color. Once changed, he settled against the pillows and closed his eyes.

He could feel Christine around him. More, he heard her.

‘Your time is done, Erik. You do not have to linger any longer.’

Opening his eyes, he saw her. She was gowned in white and wore a beatific smile. Her hand extended to him. 

‘Come to me, Angel of Music.’

He took her hand and in that moment he was as he’d been fifty years before, the absence of his mask the only difference. She looked to be the tender sixteen year old girl that had come with him to his home that night. The first genuine smile since she had died touched his features.

88888888

Two hours after her conversation with her father, Charlotte slipped into his room. Erik lay unmoving upon the bed, asleep but for the lack of breath. A smile hovering at the edges of his lips told her he had gotten his wish. 

She sank to her knees and pressed her hands to her mouth to muffle her sobs. “Papa…” she whispered. 

Grant came up behind her and turned her to lean against him. She cried into his chest. He swallowed as he looked at the still form of a man he considered a second father. “It is better this way,” he assured his distraught wife. “He is with Lady Christine.”

“Papa…” she sobbed. “Papa, Papa…”

Spencer, their oldest son, came in when he heard his mother crying. “Father…?”

He let the boy step into the embrace as well, and his grip tightened when he felt the tension that indicated the ten year old understood what had happened.

“Grand-père…?” he asked with a hint of tears in his tone.

“Your grandfather is dead,” Grant confirmed, and he supported Spencer as his cries began to break free.

Charlotte wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, though it had little effect when the drops continued down her cheeks. “We have to tell Richard and Soleil.”

“We will,” Grant promised.

“And Uncle Raoul… He and Papa just made amends…”

“I already know,” Raoul said from the entry. “Erik told me it would be tonight.” He was leaning on a cane, but he seemed well enough. “He had no reason left to stay.”

She hurried over to her elderly uncle. “Are you well? You should be in bed. You might take a chill.”

“I am fine, Little Lotte. I had to see for myself.”

“He’s really gone,” she whispered. “I never thought… I was so sure he would be here forever.”

“We all were, but this is for the best.”

“Good-bye, Papa,” Charlotte said. “Be happy.” 

She turned to her family as her father joined her mother in eternity.


End file.
